Evergreens

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                           Snapshot #12
                            Evergreens
                      (MF, bond, sm, outdoors)
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                  (c) 1997 - All Rights Reserved
                Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)
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It is quiet here.
She slowly peels the clothing from her body, carelessly tossing it
piece by piece into the back seat of the car. It lies crumpled and
disorganised there like the clutter in a child's room. She sighs and
reaches for the door handle. A moment later, she shivers in the
morning air. She waits until she hears the driver's door close with
a small slam. She turns to watch him round the hood towards her
nakedness.
He takes her hand and she is thankful for the slight warmth of the
touch. Together they enter the forest, their feet whispering through
the carpet of dried needles; one set of feet bare, the other in hard
construction boots. The occasional fallen branch and sharp stone
elicits quiet gasps from her lips as the litter of the forest
presses into the tender skin of her feet.
In a sunlit clearing, she kneels with her bare back pressing against
the harsh bark of a tall, thin pine. The soft carpet of needles
press into her knees and the tops of her feet. She carefully crosses
her wrists behind the trunk. She squirms, her legs parting, her
upturned feet to either side of the tree that will soon be her
prison and her world. She shivers at the exposure, feeling the small
bumps rise over her bare skin. She closes her eyes as her slender
wrists are bound behind the tree. He is unhurried, taking care to
form the knots in such a way that she can't release herself, can't
even reach the bonds holding her wrists. Soft rope wraps around the
tree, under her bare breasts, holding her securely down and back.
The bark itches against her scrubbed skin but she no longer squirms.
She sighs and begins to say something, perhaps an entreaty about the
tightness of her bonds. He looks up from wrapping her left ankle in
the rope. He cocks his head to the side, and she remembers her
instructions. Swallowing, she waits silently. His hand lands once on
her thigh, and once on her right breast making it dance upon her
chest. She draws in her breath, mostly from the surprise of the
blows. It doesn't hurt. Not that much. She bites her lip, struggling
not to cry out, struggling to keep still, trying not to make any
noise for him. Her instructions were clear as they left the house
this morning, and she had agreed to try. Satisfied, he bends back to
the pleasant task of binding her feet around the tree.
Finished, he walks around in front of her, marveling at the way she
looks up at him from her position. She isn't blushing as he'd
expected.
He takes a deep breath and begins to wrap lengths of the soft cord
around the base of each of her exposed breasts. She squirms a
little, but remembers to keep silent as the ropes bite gently into
her skin. Her breasts feel full and like they are being squeezed by
a million tiny fingers. It is a warm and pleasant feeling for her.
At last, his whispery touches leave her chest, and she is exposed
again, wrapped for his pleasure and her own.
Her eyes widen as he pulls a strip of white cloth from his front
pocket. She now understands why it took him so long to join her
outside the car when they'd arrived. The whiteness draped in his
hand is the same strip of white cotton that had previously draped
her most secret of places for the morning ride here. She closes her
eyes as she silently opens her mouth. The dry cloth distends her
cheeks a little, and the familiar scent of herself fills her senses.
She knows that such treatment should humiliate her, but only a dull
throb between her legs results as he uses packing tape to completely
silence her. Her tongue plays with the cloth in her mouth, and she
can feel her saliva beginning to wet it. Swallowing is difficult,
but she manages.
The man steps back, surveying his handiwork. She stares up at him,
defiant, lustful, and utterly beautiful. She stays motionless until
he walks from her and perches upon a moss covered boulder. Her
exposure, her vulnerability, her helplessness flood through her, and
she begins to squirm, trying in vain to reach the knots holding her
securely to the tree. Her bound breasts rise and fall as she
struggles and she breathes mostly through her nose. Only muffled
sounds escape her. Her heat rises as she can no longer deny that her
freedom is lost. She must rely on *him* to free her. She must rely
on *him* to satisfy her wants and needs. Her eyes plead with him.
She pleads silently for many things - even she doesn't understand
for what she is begging. But he ignores her silent entreaties and
simply watches her. She at least calms, and stares again at him,
defiant, flushed and flustered.
Her plaintive mewl cuts through the silent forest as he rises from
his perch and begins to walk from her. He chooses a path at random,
ignoring her muffled cries except for one quick backwards glance at
the nude, gagged, struggling, kneeling woman. He smiles at her,
relishing her response to the grin.
Soon, even her quiet cries are no longer carried to him over the
chilly autumn air. Nature, in all its fall splendour surrounds him.
Tall evergreens speak to him, birds flit amongst the branches crying
out in joy and freedom. Idly, he wonders what she is doing, if she
is cursing him yet. Halfway, he draws his razor sharp jack-knife
across a small evergreen branch. Whistling, he begins the journey
back to her. Serenity permeates his being. He is free as she is not.
She doesn't see him as he enters the clearing where she still kneels
amongst the dried carpet. He watches her, her damp, brunette hair
tangled about her shoulders. Her hair has fallen in her eyes, and
she cannot brush it away or tuck it behind her ear as she normally
would. Her shaded eyes are focused upon a small squirrel, no ... a
small chipmunk foraging in the needles a metre from her left knee.
She looks like a child, wonderment crossing her strong, fine
features. A moment later, the small creature raises it head, sensing
a dangerous presence. The girl, it knows, will not hurt it, but the
man, at the other side of the clearing with the evergreen bough
still gripped in his right hand, might.
Her eyes rise with the chipmunk, following its nervous gaze and
focusing on him through the wisps of her hair. Tears glisten in her
eyes and she begs as best she can for release. Her body aches from
the hours of immobility, and her arousal is complete. He can sense
it, and she knows it from the throb between her parted legs and the
tightness of her nipples. She squirms in her bonds and pleads with
her wet, wide eyes. The chipmunk dashes away from her with a series
of loud squawks brimming with betrayal.
He approaches her and gently moves her hair from her eyes. Her eyes
widen at the sight of the branch he grips so casually. The evergreen
bough, with all its velvet needles, softly strokes her skin.
Breasts. Thighs. Ribs. Soles. Throat. Lips. Between her quivering
thighs. And back to her breasts again.
The strokes slowly and inexorably become taps and then stinging
blows, the soft needles reddening her skin. She begins to cry as the
needles of the bough strike her unprotected and bound breasts. Still
he continues to strike her, mindful of the power. He could easily
break her skin, cause her agony, cause her life's blood to flow from
her veins. But he has no interest in truly hurting her sensitive
skin and so he is careful with his branch.
At last, her head falls forward, her muffled sobs bouncing through
the forest. The bough falls to the ground, touching her right knee.
She can't shift away from it, even if she had the energy to try. Her
skin, from her shoulders to her thighs, is a light crimson. She
isn't marked, but her skin is a rosy warmth in contrast to the cool
air caressing it. Her tears fall steadily down her cheeks and onto
her bound breasts. Each drip feels like a warm acid splashing
against her hyper-sensitive breasts.
He kneels in front of her, joining her on the ground. His fingers
tease her, finding all the places that she loves. Her reddened skin
feels like the softest touch would send her into oblivion, but his
fingers seems to tease and not satisfy. Slowly he enters her with
two fingers, surprised at the depth of her arousal. When she begins
to hold her breath, when she begins to tense under his fingers, he
withdraws, leaving her on the edge, enjoying her squirming.
Occasionally, he pinches her skin to distract her from otherwise
unavoidable climaxes.
Finally, her head falls forward again. She is exhausted, unable to
struggle anymore against her restraints, unable to struggle towards
the elusive orgasm that she so desperately wants and he is
tormenting her by withholding. Her shoulders ache, her knees burn
still pressing into the harsh carpet of needles. She cries, partly
from the aches, partly from the pure frustration. He watches her
cry, but not for long. He finally reaches forward, parting her
soaked lips and softly touches her clitoris. He strokes her with the
rhythm they both know so well, urging her, letting her know without
words that there will be no pinches or punishments this time. Her
head rises, her eyes still shining with unshed tears. She closes her
beautiful brown eyes and places all her attention on his insistent
fingers and her senses.
She explodes, crying out through her gag. Her first peak hits and
then the second, and then more softly the third. Her muffled voice
echoes through the forest, disturbing the wildlife, and whispering
to the trees. Without the gag, Australia might have heard her
release. At last, she slumps dazed in her restraints, breathing
heavily through her nose, exhausted.
The man gently releases the tape, pulling out the sopping panties
from her mouth.
"Thank-you," she whispers.
He smiles and perches on the boulder for a while, watching her watch
him. At last, he lowers himself to the carpet of needles. She opens
her mouth, ready to satisfy him, knowing what is expected of her. He
gently tilts her open face upwards, and urges her jaw closed. Then
he kisses her lush, full lips gently. She gives him a baffled look
but obediently closes her mouth and returns the kiss.
Slowly, he unwraps her, beginning at her sore breasts, and ending at
her wrists. He shushes her gently every time she tries to speak to
him. At last, she is free and she stretches her arms towards the
sky, working out the kinks and aches in her cramped muscles. Tears
appear as pins and needles race through her extremities and she
tries to stay as motionless as she can. He watches her and feels her
pains, but leaves her to work them out herself. Touching her now
would only make her pain worse.
At last, she turns to him and smiles. It is smile of exhaustion and
trust and is the smile that he lives for. She feels a glow suffuse
her body as the results of her smile become evident upon his face.
She holds out her hand, beckoning him to join her. He walks toward
her, and takes the small hand in his own, guiding her from the
clearing.
By the time he climbs into the driver side, she is curled up on the
seat, still unclothed, and fast asleep. He watches her for a moment,
her bare chest rising and falling in the afternoon light streaming
through the windshield. Her hands are clasped loosely under her
chin. She is smiling in her sleep, to some unknown but pleasant
dreamscape.
Together, they drive away, leaving the forest behind to its
quietness and solitude.