To Take Apart

It’s hot and quiet among the trees today. Even the little stream we can see flows almost silently along in it’s banks. Even you can’t fidget, with your arms bound together and secured to a sturdy limb above and your legs anchored to other trees, spread but with the rope between them making it impossible to move more than an inch or two. The ball gag you wore here is big enough to make your jaws ache. Sweat is already running down your skin, no longer absorbed by the clothing I’ve cut away from you.

You’re watching the knife, still. And why not? There’s no blindfold, and your head is the only thing you can move. The knife is sharp enough that it made rags of your shirt and shorts with only a whisper of sound. You’re not bleeding yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time. I have the knife, the rope, the woods and your skin to work with.

And you asked me to take you apart, didn’t you? You should be scared.

I’m not talking. I’m busy stripping the bark from a wicked thin switch I’ve cut. Without the bark it will cut deeper. I know it, and I can see in your eyes that you do, too. I’m taking my time. Your jaws are not going to be the only thing that aches tomorrow. I’m keeping you just where you are until I’m finished with you.

The long curls of bark fall from my knife onto what used to be your shirt. They make patterns in brown on white, swirls that are pretty enough to carve into your skin, later. After you’ve screamed for me. Maybe about when you’re sure you can’t take any more. I know you can, and I’m going to show you. Show you until you fail and fall apart.

I watch you shiver when I sheathe the knife at my hip. You shift your weight, but you’re helpless. Maybe you can turn your hips a bit, rotate your shoulders some, try to escape what I’m about to do to you. But it wouldn’t be a good idea, and we both know it. You can take the switch and we both know that, too. You’ll stand like a good boy, stand like you did while I put the rope on you. I don’t even have to tell you to.

I just walk around behind you, flick the whippy wood against your ass. But not hard. Oh, it stings and you flinch. The switch can do worse, though. It will, once I’ve pinked your skin a bit, made it sensitive. That’s what I set about to do. And you stand for it, let me hit you, and take it like a man. Silly boy.

Did I say I was in no hurry? Changing the color of your skin like this takes time. And since I’m covering you front and back from elbow to knee in light pink stripes, it takes a long time until I’m satisfied. A delicious trembling has started in your legs when I pause and push the damp hair out of your face, check the temperature of your fingers. There’s water in the backpack hung on a nearby limb and I grab a bottle, drink half of it while I’m walking around and looking you over. Your eyes stay on the switch that I’ve tucked into the pack.

Are you that eager to continue? Probably. But you need a drink, too. It’s hot down in the woods, and I won’t have you failing because of that. I work the buckle one handed and take the gag from your mouth. It’s cute watching you work your jaws so they’ll close. But it’s gratifying that you take the water as fast as I’ll give it to you. You get the rest of the bottle, and thank me quietly after. I just put the ball back in your mouth and buckle it in place again.

Empty bottle in the pack, switch back in my hand and I’m back behind you in a couple of steps. This time when the switch lands across your shoulders it draws blood. Your scream would sound better without the gag, but I don’t want you begging. You asked for this, so all words would do is piss me off. I want to enjoy this scene, not stop it due to anger. I want you to break for me. That’s why the pattern of deep red marks cross each other. And why, when I reach your knees I start all over at your shoulders again.

The first time you fall I pause long enough for you to stand again. The ropes didn’t let you get far, but I can see it’s an effort to haul yourself back up. You’d rather curl into a ball among the leaves, but I won’t let you. You have to take this because I’ve said so. You manage to hold yourself up until the switch snaps in two across your ass, and only then fall again. Strong boy.

I drop the broken switch at your feet and pick another branch to peel. This one is thicker, and your whimper when you see it makes me smile. You may be bleeding in a dozen places but this new tool will leave bruises. A different kind of pain. Marks we’ll both enjoy tomorrow. You get your trembling legs under you before I finish turning the green wood into a makeshift cane. I confirm that your fingers are still warm before starting in on your back with the cane.

Grunts reward my efforts. You fall and haul yourself back up several times before I’m satisfied. Bruises bloom on your ass and thighs and shoulders like leopard’s spots and here and there you’re decorated with streaks of blood. So pretty I have to touch. Do you know how beautiful you are when you writhe because I’m digging my thumb into a dark bruise? I’ve told you before, but today I’m silent. Today, I simply come around in front of you while I’m licking your blood from my fingers. Sweet copper and salt and I want more.

The cane joins the broken switch on the ground. I’m done with it. I want my knife. Your eyes get huge as I hold it up between us, let the light catch the four inch razor edge. It’s not the size of the blade that scares you. It’s what you know I’m going to do with it. Your eyes go wider and you whimper when it reaches for your flesh. The first curlique I carve into your chest, wrap the end around your nipple. Blood wells up then runs slowly down. A treat for me. I lick one trail while your breath stutters. I expect tears soon.

I run a finger over your other nipple, then start the next pattern in a spiral of blood around it. How you hold still for it I’m never sure. Fear helps. My cuts are shallow, even, practiced things and you don’t want them any deeper. You barely breathe until I stand back and admire my work. Sweat runs down to mingle with the blood and you jerk with the fresh pain. You look down in time to see me kneel, to watch me carve another design into your thigh. This time there are tears to mingle with the blood. I taste them both, and let you see how much I like them.

And then I choose my next canvas. Your upper arm, the skin so soft above the dark hair in your armpit. I bury my nose in your scent a moment before I catch your eye with sun on the blade and carve a slow swirl in that sensitive skin. More tears flow and you whimper. And now I finally choose to talk.

“You’re trembling so hard you’re going to ruin my work, boy.” I run my free hand down your sternum and on, capturing your half hard cock and lifting it. “Guess I need something I can hold still myself.”

You struggle just a moment and then sag, sobbing, while I kneel again. I give you two small cuts to scream to, then kiss them better, tasting more of your sweet blood. You hang in your bonds, crying so hard your whole body shakes with it. Snotting up. I get the gag off, toss it in the backpack, grab your hair.

“I’m not done with you, boy. Get up.”

You try. And fail, and cry harder. I think what you’re trying to say is an apology. I let you try again before I slap your face. Then I cut the cheap rope that stretches your feet apart, leaving the length between them.

“On your feet!” This time I raise my voice.

It can’t matter. You’re done and I know it. But you try again, fail again and end up sobbing harder. I watch you shake while I fetch the battered quilt from my pack and spread it beneath you, another water bottle at the corner. Your breathing is getting labored, hampered by the weight on your arms as much as your sobbing. I get behind you with one foot between yours and the other braced behind us, wrap my free arm around your bleeding chest, and order you to stand once more. But this time when I do, I cut the rope that supports your hands and you go all the way down to the ground.

I guide you down, roll you to your side. Your sobbed sorrys get shushed with a word, with a gentle hand in your hair. I sit beside you and let you curl around me. Beaten, broken, sobbing, you do just that, bound hands clenched in the back of my shirt and face buried in my thigh. I pet your sweaty head and let you weep. I’ve drank half the water before you catch your breath

A mouthful of water is all you get now. You take it gratefully and lay your head on my knee. “Tell me.” I want to know what’s going on in your head.

“I failed you.” Your voice is so soft I almost miss it. Would have, if the day were noisier.

I flick your earlobe and you wince harder than normal. So sensitive. “Try again.”

You look up at me, blinking, head still resting on my knee. “I failed myself?”

This time I pinch just under your conveniently close armpit. “Wrong.”

This wince makes blood flow from a cut again. I taste it while you think. I can see you thinking, and that’s pretty glorious too. Especially when your face lights up.

“I failed because you wanted me to.” Did you forget? But you go on. “I wasn’t sure I’d break.”

Your fists tighten in my shirt. I ruffle your sweaty hair and grin. “I was.” But I’m glad you told me that.

You bury your face against my stomach and the tears fall for a while more. I pet you, call you my good boy, tell you how strong you are. It’s what you need. You ache, you hurt for me, you’ll treasure your bruises and the cuts that will fade too quickly. Tomorrow you’ll know how much you took. But you’ll also know there is a limit, a point where pain is too much and you don’t like it any more. A point where you come apart.

I grin some more. I took you there. And here you are, so tight against me, trusting me to bring you back, to love you still. Even though you lie in pieces around me. I do. I’m proud as hell of you and can’t stop touching you. I’ll tell you that again later, after you’ve followed me out of here, after I’ve cleaned your wounds and tucked you, still bound hand and foot in cheap rope, into our bed. I’ll tell you when you wake, when I finally untie you, while you serve me supper.

My brave boy. Do you know you’ll be stronger for having come apart? I do.

Playing With Toys

There he was, spread on the sheets. The black leather at wrist and ankle contrasted with his pale skin. The red leather cord that bound his swollen member looked bright there, but matched the red ropes that stretched his limbs toward the corners of the bed. The blindfold and gag obscured most of his face, but the rest of him was bare to my touch.

I contemplated my plans for him as I moved around, getting out toys but mostly just making noise. He was listening, paying close attention, doing a good job of teasing himself with anticipation. His cock twitched when I tested the vibrator's battery by turning it on. That made me grin. So I made him wait, moved around some more, touched him where he wasn’t expecting it.

The way he arched into my hands, the moan into the gag, the turn of his head blindly toward me was pretty in the way that teased flesh is. I wanted more. I was hungry for it. I swept my hand down his belly, around the leather cords to squeeze a bit on that hard flesh. A thumbtip over the little sensitive circumcision scar made him lift his hips.

When they came down again, the vibrator was there, buzzing against that forbidden back door. Exit only today, but the way he grinds down against it hints he might be regretting that decision. No matter. The angle is wrong, and tease is all he can get.

I want more noises. Bells. I watch his hips thrust as I reach for the clamps. The silver bells at the ends jingle merrily for us, and he knows what they are by the sound. He moans for me again. It’s almost “please” muffled through the gag. I like the sound enough that I give him what he wants. He hisses around the gag as the clamps go on. Of course I play with them. They’re bells, bright and shiny and he makes such lovely sounds as I ring them.

I contemplate the other toys for a moment, letting him breathe, fuck the air, ride the vibrator. Will I use the clothespins next? Another vibe? Something softer? So many toys, but the best one is writhing bound on the bed. I can’t help myself. I straddle him, grab a handful of hair, pull his head to the side. I lick his cheek, his neck, his collarbone. And there I settle, seal lips over his skin, suck up a dark mark. The moans are mine, and I’m panting a bit when I kiss the bruise I’ve made then move up to chew on his ear ever so gently.

And then I breathe into it the truth between us. “Mine.” All mine.

World of Three

“What’s for dinner?” I asked from the couch, not even looking up from my book. It was Ray’s dinner day, so probably stir fry.

“Pizza.” Denise stated quite clearly from the kitchen, in that steel in velvet tone that said they were going to play tonight. Hot damn.

Ray was already shutting down his video game when I looked up. Denise, Deni, with her long hair back in a braid and her favorite painted on black leather pants hugging the lines of her thighs strolled into the living room. Negotiation time, and Deni was certainly going to be on top. Ray clicked one last button, set the controllers all on the coffee table, and dropped to his knees at Deni’s bare feet, declaring his place in the games without a word. He even started stripping off his shirt without being told. Eager, Ray, when he wanted to bottom.

I was left with my own decision. I looked up at Deni. “Do you care?”

She shook her head. “Gonna fill his hot ass one way or another. Your cock, the pink dildo, doesn’t matter.”

Ray whimpered at her feet and started working his way out of his jeans. We both ignored him. She was watching me with that considering look I loved. I could see the wheels in her mind coming up with things to do to both of us, and also with things we could both do to Ray. Damn kinky mind our best girl has. Problem was, I wasn’t sure just what I wanted tonight. A spanking sounded good. So did taking a flogger to our best boy. I started to flip a mental coin, then shrugged. I hadn’t been greedy in a while.

“I’ll warm him up for you before I hit my knees.” I made it a casual offer, not a demand. She’d started this. It was her scene.

“I’m taking a belt to someone’s butt tonight.” Cool words, almost chilly. A warning for me to back off or hurt.

I nodded, willing to give her that, knowing she wasn’t going to be holding back. I let the shiver run up my spine before I said more. Delicious. “If he gets my cock, do I get the dildo?” We both knew that really meant please please please. I loved being filled almost as much as Deni did.

“We’ll see.” Her eyes narrowed, and I knew I wasn’t getting any more concessions.

I pulled off my shirt as I stood. “Lead the way, then.”

The basement had sold us on this house. Yeah, it was nice that three of the four bedrooms were just the same size so each of us could have our own space and still share the big bed. And the kitchen had enough counter space for me to make ravioli and Deni to spread out her baking to her heart’s content, although not on the same night. But the basement was perfect. The stairs spilled out into our little finished workout room. A door to the right for the laundry, then around the corner to the left for the unfinished storage room. Through that, for some reason, to our little slice of kinky heaven.

It really wasn’t much. A second hand wrestling mat on the floor in deference to my old knee injury. A loveseat just big enough for the three of us to cuddle on. The spanking bench Ray had built along with the Saint Andrew’s cross. A shiny black tool chest we’d gotten at a bargain and repainted, relining the drawers with new red felt. Blankets and pillows stacked on an ottoman that matched nothing else in the house. The futon rolled against one wall. A college dorm of playrooms, but it was ours, all ours.

Ray dropped the cordless phone he’d brought from upstairs onto the top of our tool chest toy box, locked the door, then went to the cross. He knew what he wanted, all right. I wondered if Deni had seen it even though I hadn’t noticed. She wasn’t really bothering with words anymore, either, just got busy with the leather, making our best boy helpless. The flogger was in the top drawer, tails neatly arranged from our last clean up, handle on top of them so all I had to do was pick it up, let the supple, well oiled leather order itself as I walked to the cross, to Ray, to Deni. The loves of my life.

She was up against our boy, hand tangled in his short hair, twisting his head to the side. Her mouth on his neck, sucking like a vampire. She always marked us before she really started hurting us. Not that we were about to forget we belonged to her, ever. I mean, she was marking right above that heavy silver chain that matched mine, matched hers, the collars we’d all worn for a little over two years now. Two blissful years.

Yeah, yeah, we argued. Ray had quit that crappy job he hated and found another he only complained a little less about. There’d been that pregnancy scare. We were still discussing a third vehicle. But for every bad, trompy, whiny day we had plenty like this, where the energy clicked between us, when we all knew just what we wanted and gave it to each other. And by the way Ray moaned under Deni’s mouth, our boy was just where he wanted to be, right now.

My turn.

I tapped Deni on the shoulder. “May I have this dance?”

She grinned at me as she stepped back. “Why of course, kind sir. Be my guest.” And the bow and sweep of her arm was courtly enough for any of Ray’s fantasy video games.

I grinned about that as I took her place against him, my jeans against his ass, my hands running up his arms so the flogger caressed his skin. He shivered while I nuzzled his ear. “Beg me.”

Ray did, such a good bottom boy. “Please, Jerry, hit me. I want the flogger so much. Please, Jerry?”

“You’re a slut for it, aren’t you boy?” Not eloquent, but he was rubbing his bare ass against my jeans for all he was worth. Words fail me a little when he does that.

Still, he was nodding. “Yes I am. A slut for your flogger, Jerry. Please hit me. Please?”

I made him beg a little more while I chewed on his ear. Loved how that made him writhe. His moan when I stepped back was pretty fine, too. I gave him one, light, just a tease high on his shoulders and listened to him beg some more. Glanced at Deni, sitting on the bench, running her hands over the doubled leather belt while she watched. The belt she was going to use on me. Hot, hot, hot.

Our best boy first, though. I gave him my attention, let the flogger fly. Nice sound, both leather and flesh and Ray’s grunt on impact. I gave him a few more, a warm up, then Deni joined me as we touched him, checked his bindings, licked at his pinked up flesh. She kissed me, then got out of the way.

“Beg me.” This time I said it louder, and Ray groaned before the words started pouring out of his mouth. Too coherent. I set about making him stupid, making him fly.

The free weights in the other room are mine, but this wasn’t about force. Ray might be our heavyweight when it comes to taking pain, but I don’t have to make him bleed to make him fly. Just watch his reactions, the way his muscles relax, the way his cries turn to soft little moans and he starts arching back into the strikes. I give it to him heavy as long as he needs, then ease off, let it carry him away for a bit.

Deni helps me check him again, once I stop. This time she has one hand on our boy and one on my back. I’m next, I know it. Ray’s all red and hip rolling for a few, then the kisses over his shoulders open his eyes.

“Mydun?” Ray slur for can I come down now.

Deni kisses his cheek. “For now. Stay here for me.”

“Kay.” His eyes close and he rests against the wood.

I put the flogger on the toybox. We’ll check it over, clean the sweat off, put it away later. I have a date with a hot chick and a belt, and I can’t wait to get out of my jeans. They’re throttling my hard on. I start to strip them off, but Deni stops me.

“You forgot something, Jerry.” And I had. I go to her, drop to my knees on the mat, let my head fall forward. She grabs my hair, pulls my face up. She tilts my head, marks me with a bit of teeth involved. “What comes next, Jerry?”

I look into her eyes, all cruel dark diamonds. “The belt.” Almost a whisper, but I got it out.

The toss she gives my head nearly sits me back on my butt. “Strip and hit the bench, airhead.” Endearments. Gotta love ‘em.

She gives me enough time to settle, at least, my cock tucked under me, protected. But she doesn’t start slow. She wants red, and she wants it now, and it doesn’t feel like she cares if the red is my skin or my safe word. Ow. I grab the bench, make myself stay put, and just howl with it. My world narrows, my butt and the belt and the little grunts of effort she makes off and on. Yeah, yeah, I’ve taken worse, it’s just a strapping, man up and all that. But damn, no warm up, no restraints to lean into, no mercy at all. She doesn’t get tears before she stops, but it’s a close thing.

“Good boy.” She pats my back, leaves me panting on the bench. If I could move, I’d check and see what she was doing. I faintly remember something about a dildo.

And then there it is. Lubed with the thick stuff and being fed into my ass slowly, rigid and cool from the play room’s air. There’s no mercy for this, either. It’s going in, and I take that deep breath and relax so it can, take the burn of the stretching, too. She works it in, fucks me with it a few times. The cruelest way, fast and hard and nowhere near the sweet spot. Then she stops. Her hand grips my hair again, turns my head to face the cross. Ray, slumping there a little.

“Get him down. We’re moving to the futon.” At least she pulls the dildo out.

I have to do Ray’s feet first. It’s a struggle for him, but he takes his own weight while I get his hands. He rolls his shoulders, lowering his arms slowly, and I just let him go at his own pace, steady him on his feet, help him move when he can. My burning butt screams at me every time I move.

Deni’s spread the futon and we go to her, to it, leaning on each other like drunken fools. I end up on my back with Ray kneeling close, watching while she shoves that dildo back into me. I want it. I even want the fucking she gives me with it while Ray watches. I want more, because she’s still cruel about it. Somewhere, though, I’ve lost the words to ask, so I take what I can get and watch Ray watching me.

He’s back from his flight a little, so when Deni sends him for the lube he makes it there and back without wobbling much. He’s quiet, and his hand when he smears my cock with lube is gentle as anything. So sweet when he’s like this. He mounts me backward, like she wants, and I help support him when she leans him back. Then she’s impaled on him, he on me, me on the dildo. She dictates the pace and all I can do is rock a little under them both, brace our best boy, and fly with them again. Orgasms happen in there somewhere, almost secondary to the rest of the feeling. Or maybe I was just so far gone on my own that I didn’t notice when they went, too.

We’re a tangled, messy heap on the futon when it’s done, sharing kisses all around. Ray eases the dildo out of me, sets it aside. He still has the middle.

“Fantastic, Deni.” Ray’s voice is so deep, so quiet. “I needed that.”

Deni’s hand roams us both. “Say something next time, goofball.” Those endearments, again.

I smile, and wrap myself around them both, enjoying the burn, the sweat, the afterglow. My Ray and my Deni. The world in my arms.