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.