Fire in the Cave (7 page)

She slid her hand downward, along his chest, his stomach. His skin
was hot, riding over hard, rippling muscle. She reached down
further, down to touch herself, finding shocking heat and wetness
there. She moved her fingers slowly, gathering the wetness. It felt
so good to touch, to feel how ready her body was for him. Whatever
her mind was trying to plan, her body wanted him, wanted him to fill
her and use her. She bit back a needy whine, then reached up and
closed her hand around his shaft.

He groaned happily, rocking against her, his hot, thick shaft sliding
in her slippery fingers. She smiled, panting between parted lips.
She could do this. She could make him feel more pleasure, make him
lose control first. She could bind him with the leash and pull him
toward her, make him mount her and use her and cry out in helpless
joy. She just had to get the collar on him. She’d lost track
of it in the confusion. Her eyes darted around the room.

He had the leash.

He had it in his hands, he had taken it from her while she was
distracted. His mouth set in a hard smile of satisfaction, he
slipped his hands beneath her and wrapped the collar around her
waist. The leash, smooth braided leather, went down beneath her
cheeks and came up between her legs. His hands moved quickly, tying
a knot below her naval, above her mound. She was bound, a broad
leather strap around her waist and a thick braided cord snug and
tight against her most sensitive places. She shifted slightly and
felt it moving, smooth and cool against her bottom, its width
spreading her cheeks slightly apart. It felt firm and tight in her
slit, already getting slick with her wetness. He tugged the cord,
finishing the knot, and she let out a sobbing gasp as it tightened
against her bud. It felt like the leather was tightening around the
core of heat inside her, binding it, squeezing it with no hope of
release.

She gasped for breath, cheeks hot, looking up at him. He wasn’t
smiling, now. He was staring down at her, a hunger almost like rage
burning in his eyes.

“I tie the knot,” he said, voice low, “With my
strong hands.” He had one hand on the knot, the other on the
leash that led out of it. He held the knot firmly, took a deep
breath, and hauled back on the leash with all his strength. She
gritted her teeth, bracing for pain, but the strap only tightened a
little. Instead, the knot shrank, pulling tight, becoming a hard nut
of twisted leather. A surge of helplessness rose in her. She
wondered if he could untie her now even if he wanted to.

She shifted her hips, and had to bite back a moan as the cord slid
against her bud. Black-dog was standing, looking down at her,
smiling at his work.

“I tie the knot,” he said, pacing slowly around her, the
leash in his hand, “and then I fuck you as hard as I want.”

He was standing behind her, now, above her head as she lay on the
furs. She panted, trying to catch her breath, trying to think. It
had all gone wrong. She was bound instead of him, she could feel his
hand on the leash as if he were touching her directly, each breath
she took made the leather shift and slide in her slit. Her mind
raced helplessly. There must be some way to fix it, there must be
some way to turn it around.

Then his hand was in her hair, pulling, and he was pulling on the
leash, too, tugging the cord into her, sweet painful pressure. He
hauled her to the edge of the pile of furs, then relaxed his grip.
Her head hung off the edge of the pile, upside down, throat bared,
breasts rising and falling as she gasped. He was tugging on the
leash in a steady rhythm now, the cord pressing and sliding in her,
building heat. She flushed pink with shame. She had expected a
struggle, but to be losing like this, to be lying helpless before him
as he made her come with a dog collar and a leash, it was too
shameful, too embarrassing. But she couldn’t make it not feel
good. Couldn’t stop the sliding pressure, and the steady,
strong tug of his hand. Her body lay limp, rocking as he pulled on
the harness, glowing inside as the cord stroked back and forth in her
tenderness.

She looked up at him, standing above her head. His bare thighs, the
tanned muscles of his stomach, his broad chest, up to his eyes,
watching her as he played with her. His shaft was standing, hard;
the underside was inches above her face. He reached down, stroked
her neck and chin. She felt her mouth opening, moaning. He pushed
his cock-head between her open lips, hot and smooth against her
tongue, filling her mouth, blocking her breath.

He rocked in and out, growling with satisfaction, still tugging the
leash, using her body for his pleasure. She was getting dizzy. Each
time his stroke pulled back she gasped a little air, but it wasn’t
enough, she was getting confused. He was huge and hot in her mouth,
her lips were wet and stretched around his shaft, her hips were
rising and falling as she pressed against the tight, thick cord. She
was moving with his tugging now, rocking her hips against the cord
pressing into her. He was growling like a beast, he was tugging and
thrusting faster, her head was full of clouds, her cunt was full of
heat and sliding leather. She reached up, wrapped her hands around
his cock, stroked him, trying to please him, trying to earn some more
air… it was working, he wasn’t thrusting all the way
into her throat now, she could breath as his head pushed in and out
of her mouth, salty sweetness leaking from the tip onto her tongue.
He groaned approval as she stroked him, tugging steadily on the
leash. She had barely enough thought left to keep her hands moving,
keep giving him pleasure so he would keep tugging, keep making her
feel good, she needed only a little more, only a little more to come
and break inside and be his…

She was almost mindless. It felt so sweet. He was tugging, she was
stroking, she was tasting him, he was pressing and squeezing her
breast, moving in her mouth… a flicker of motion caught her
eye.

The end of the leash.

He was holding it halfway down its length, firm grip, tugging,
tugging. The slack, the extra length, was dangling and swinging
right beside her head.

She reached out.

Her bud was singing, the smooth braided leather sliding back and
forth over it. His cock was huge in her hand, fucking her mouth,
heedless of her need to breathe. She couldn’t think. She felt
his heartbeat in his shaft, thundering, knew his pleasure was rising
to the breaking point. She took the leash in her hand, wrapped it
around his shaft, and stroked him with the smooth, oiled leather.

The cord tightened against her and she came, white light charging up
from the heat between her legs to wash away her last traces of
thought. He came, pouring himself into her mouth, a rush of thick
hotness, painting her lips sticky white. She swallowed, swallowed
again, gasped for air. Smiled. She felt like she was floating, like
she was lost in a happy dream.

He fell to one knee, panting, looking down at her. For a long time,
they looked into one another’s eyes, dark into pale blue, blue
into dark, shadows growing deeper as the torch slowly burned out.
Outside, it was dawn. Here, in the heart of the earth, it was as if
night was gathering again. There was something on the cave roof, she
saw, that glowed. Something that gave off light, little specks like
stars.

Black-dog reached down and uncoiled the end of the leash from around
his shaft. He glared at her, eyes shining in the gloom.

He growled. “What did you do?”

“Gave myself to you,” she sighed happily, “and took
myself from you. I’m bound to you. You’re bound to me.
No one else can please you now. No one else can feed your hunger,
turn it into happiness and release.”

He stood, a black shape in the darkness, eclipsing the stars behind
him.

“You are bound to me,” he said. His voice was deep,
echoing through the cave. “But I will free myself from you. I
will break your witchcraft, as my hands snap bones and shatter
stones. I will leave you begging for my touch, as I walk free. I am
Black-dog. I will not be bound.”

He turned and vanished into the dark, his hounds padding after him.
She was alone.

She let out a long sigh, wincing as the motion shifted the leather
that still bound her. She reached down, carefully exploring with her
fingertips. The collar, sized for the largest hounds, was snug
around her waist. It rested at the top of the curve of her hips, a
broad strap. Not painful, not cutting into her skin, but definitely
too tight for her to slip out of it.

Her fingers found the knot, the hard-twisted place where the leash
and collar came together. She worked at it, trying to pull it apart;
her breath caught in her throat as the tugging shifted the cord,
moving it in her slit and between her cheeks. She held the knot
still with one hand and pried at it with her fingernails. Hopeless.

She sat up, gritting her teeth against the sliding, pressing
sensation, and reached down further. She took the cord in her
fingers and pulled, pulling it a hair’s thickness away from her
body, reducing the pressure, freeing herself for a moment from the
sliding and rubbing. The collar tightened around her waist, the
pressure on her rear hole increased, but for a moment, a blessed
moment, she could let her tender bud rest… the oiled leather
slipped from her fingers, tension snapping it back into place. The
little impact shot a harsh wave of sensation up her spine, forcing a
groan from between her teeth. For a moment, she lay helpless on the
furs, arms limp, twitching with the aftershocks. After that little
respite, the touch and pressure were even harder to bear.

She lay there, gasping, wondering if it was witchcraft or pure
strength that Black-dog had used to do this. They were bound, both
to each other. She could feel him; she knew he was alive, felt
anger, hunger, a sense of planning. Focusing on the link was making
her remember, making her think of his body, the weight of him on top
of her, the warmth that rose inside her. She closed her eyes tight,
turned her mind away from him.

She had to get out of this collar. Would that break the binding?
No… the leather was no longer touching Black-dog, but he was
still bound. If she cut it, though, got a stone knife and sawed
through the cord, there was no way of knowing what would happen. It
could free them both, or only one. Or the power in it, the power
she’d put in and Black-dog had added to, could rush out like
lightning and strike her dead. She needed to untie it, not cut it.
She needed oil, and help.

Moving carefully, the cord gently rubbing her with each motion, she
got to her feet. She pulled a fur from Black-dog’s sleeping
pile and wrapped it around herself, soft and warm on her skin. She
reached out one hand to trail along the cool stone wall and slowly
walked out of the cave, up towards the light.

She would have to walk past the men.

The morning sun was streaming through the cave mouth. The men were
awake in the big, high-ceilinged cavern, fixing tools, telling jokes,
cooking breakfast over the coals of the central fire. As she stepped
out of the dark, their eyes turned toward her.

She kept her gaze fixed on the cave mouth, the way out, the warm
light. She straightened her back, held the fur close around her, and
stepped forward. The cord slid in her. She felt a flush rising in
her cheeks. She stepped again, kept moving, feeling the eyes on her.
Some were smiling. She knew what they must see: pretty witch-girl,
clothing gone and hair wild, stumbling home after being Black-dog’s
toy. Fucked until she forgot her name, like Sparrow. Still flushed
and confused from being used. They were wrong, she hadn’t
lost, she wasn’t like that, she had to tell them… what?
Tell them that she was blushing and stumbling, not because she’d
been fucked and broken, but because Black-dog had tied a dog leash
over her cunt and it felt good? Open the fur blanket and show them
the tight leather, the wetness on her thighs? Her face was hot. She
was having trouble breathing.

Someone caught her arm. Highhawk. Friend. Others moving close,
looking worried. Highhawk whispering, hissing in her ear, “Do
you need help? Witch-girl, tell me how to help you.”

She needed the knot undone. Needed to get loose. Needed strength,
strength equal to Black-dog, to pull apart the knot and free her.
She had lost her grip on the fur, it was sliding down her body,
falling to the floor. She felt eyes on her, staring. Bors, biggest
of the men, was standing beside them now, concern on his broad face.
He was strong. Wrong kind of strength, wrong kind of power, he
couldn’t help her.

“Find White-stag,” the witch-girl mumbled. “Bring
the daylight brother.” She closed her eyes, and felt arms
reach out to catch her as she fell.

T
he witch-girl was floating. She was warm, breathing deeply,
softness all around her. Tightness between her legs; the leash was
still on her. She opened her eyes. She was being carried, wrapped
in a fur. She could see sky, and the worried faces of Highhawk and
Bors. She could feel their hands under her, lifting her, floating
her down the hillside.

“We’ll take her to her hut, she’s stronger there,”
Highhawk was saying. “I’ll stay with her while you bring
White-stag.”

The witch-girl closed her eyes, and she was somewhere else.

She was running, running through the forest on four legs, fast and
powerful and hungry. Two others ran with her, keeping pace. Her
brother hound was a shadow in the trees, flashing through patches of
sunlight, bounding over logs, happy to be hunting. And her human,
her master, where was he?

She saw him. He was ahead of her, flying through the woods, slipping
through thickets like a wind, leaping fallen trees and landing silent
on bare feet, black hair streaming behind him. She could smell his
sweat, hear his breathing, know his mood. He was hungry, angry,
seeking. She felt a surge of love and loyalty, a roaring fire within
her. Her master was strong and good; she would help him. She would
help him find what he hunted, help him take it. He would give
commands, in single words and gestures, and she would obey, she would
get it right every time. And he would praise her, strong wonderful
master would pat her head and scratch her ears and say “good
girl,” and she would know she was good because master was
strong and wise and he said so. And he would teach her more tricks,
and she would obey more, and he would smile, and she would be his
good girl forever.