12 comments/ 22196 views/ 58 favorites The Cave Ch. 01 By: Clunkety The moment I woke up, before my eyes could even be persuaded to open, I was already aware of three things. First, my head was pounding—throbbing—down the back of my neck. It made me nauseous, and I lolled my head back against a wall, white flashes of pure migraine strobing between my ears to the tune of my quick pulse. Next, the floor. The cold, hard, jagged floor. Something sharp was pinching my left buttock. It occurred to me sleeping on the cement of my single stall garage would have been more comfortable. Lastly, and I probably wouldn't have noticed this so quickly if it weren't for the frigid floor, but I was completely without clothes. Naked, as the day I was born. I'd like to stay my eyes fluttered open, gracefully, like Snow White after her spell-breaking kiss from Prince Charming, but when I managed to tear open the crusty seal of one eyelid, my eyeballs rolled up to my forehead like white marbles. Lifting my head made me dizzy and as I peered into the dank darkness of the room, the sightless vertigo was like a slow, liquid motion of oil and ink. Somewhere, I could hear the soft echo of dripping water and, somewhere much closer, the light and slumberous breathing of someone—or something. But the full realization of my predicament didn't come into focus until I tried to move... ...and heard the heavy, unsettling jangle of rusty chains. They were attached to my forearms in wide metal cuffs, strapping my hands high over my head, bracing me to a wall that I was now convinced was made of solid stone. Panic mounting, I whimpered and pulled on the restraints. The links clacked noisily on the rocks and the nearby breathing suddenly ceased. I wrenched down on the swaying shackles, my bare butt lifting off the floor, and the difficulty with which it took to control them suggested they were attached very high up. Listening carefully, I only heard the dull roar of blood in my head at first, but soon the breathing started up again and I relaxed infinitesimally, just enough to try speculating how I got there. The last thing I remembered was leaving Zup's and driving home. I didn't buy much. A bottle of antacids, a crossword book and a box of bran flakes for the morning. I knew I would live to regret the spicy hunan beef from the Chinese take-out place downtown and I remember pinning the bottle of antacid tablets between my knees, trying to rip off that little piece of foil with one hand while the other was on the steering wheel. Something ran in front of my headlights. Something four-legged. Maybe a dog. I think I clipped it, which is why I had to pull over to look for it. The rest was a blank. Except... I remembered the earthy smell of pine needles. In the darkness, the steady breathing hitched during a great inhale. I held my breath to eavesdrop, my heart crazily defibrillating. Something between a light moan and a sigh alerted me to their general direction: diagonally left, about 12 to 15 feet away. The sounds were vaguely feminine, the lackadaisical noises of someone waking and lazily stretching. And they terrified me. My chains were jangling again and as I tried to still them, I realized mine weren't moving. I hadn't moved a muscle since the other person in the room began to stir. It occurred to me I might not be the only one manacled to the wall. And if there were others, maybe we could work together to escape... "H-hello?" I whispered without moving my lips. Admittedly it was a meek sound but it still echoed like I was in the biggest bathroom there ever was. The ceilings sounded very high. "Oh, you are awake," she said. Her voice sounded smooth, but hushed and I wondered if I should be relieved she didn't sound absolutely petrified. "Where are we?" I asked. "I don't know," she said. "How long have you been here?" "I'm not sure. A few weeks?" she guessed. At least she sounded healthy. Someone was taking care of her. The question was: who was taking care of her? I didn't have time to ask. A rhythmic clicking began bouncing off the high walls. With a sinking horror, I realized they were footsteps. "He's coming," she said. She didn't sound exactly tense; more like anxious. "Who?" I hissed. "Don't talk to him. And don't look him in the eye." "What? Why?" "Shhh!" My chin immediately began to quiver. My hands struggled on the cuffs and the rusty metal pinched my skin. Soon, my cheeks were wet with tears. A terrible smell wafted into the space, like the floor drain of a slaughterhouse, and it made my eyes burn more than the tears did. He lumbered around, quite at ease in the dark, and I could hear the rumble of his breathing. With a grunt, he dropped something and it crashed to the floor like a bundle of timber. I tried to hear the other woman, to take some cue from her, but she had faded to nonexistence in the darkness. I thought about giving her some kind of signal. Maybe we could develop a kind of communication with the sounds our chains made. I had lost track of his movements around the room, but I could tell he was focused on a chore. Preparations for our deboning, or whatever horrific events he had planned for us. Just when I thought he might have forgotten about me, I heard the fleshy sound of his bare feet, the scuffle of dirt on a stone floor, circling me. My eyes darted unseeingly around the black void in front of me, but I could sense him shuffling up on my left side. I scooted away, the chains rattling gently above me, and I had to resist the urge to dry heave, the smell of rotting meat stemming completely from him. His breathing became a series of quick sniffs and I could feel the breeze of his sharp exhales chilling the tears on my face. I turned my face, revolted, swallowing my sobs. His snuffles were so close to my ear; I sat extremely still and waited for him to finish his olfactory evaluation. When he was done, I sensed him standing and something brushed my arm. It was thick and heavy and covered in wiry hair, but the next thing I knew, something dropped next to me and whatever it was, splashed a few warm droplets on my legs. It smelled coppery of blood. I think he left again. I couldn't be certain how far away he had gone and I was too paralyzed to ask the other woman. Actually, I think she might have fallen asleep again. I was sure he was back when I heard his toe nails ticking on the floor again. For a long time, there was just the woody snap of thick branches as he busied himself with something in the room. My eyes had not made any attempt to adjust to the darkness and I knew we must have been quite deep in the cave. This close to the Soudan, I was no stranger to cave tours and the obligatory demonstration of turning off all the flashlights to experience flawless darkness. But there was no tour guide looming in the shadows with her hand on the power switch. At worst, the room's temperature was brisk, mostly from the chill of the rocky wall at my back. My nipples were tight and my toes automatically clenched to keep warm. I rubbed my nose against the underside of my arm to scratch it and continued to quietly weep. I wondered if the other woman was crying, or if she had already cried herself out. How long before I was dried up? Soon, I began to smell smoke. A minute later, a flash of fire sparked around the profile of a crouching silhouette, long arms feeding sticks and leaves and other bits of debris to the budding blaze. From what I could see, his shoulders were heavily draped, as if with furs. With the available light, I squinted in the direction of the other woman, but there were still too many shadows. I thought about where my car was. How long was it running on the side of the road before it ran out of gas? If only I had just kept driving. Probably I would have lain awake last night thinking of the poor dog dying in the woods, but at least I'd be in my bed. As the fire grew, so did my awareness of being naked. I adjusted the way I sat, knees together, legs pulled close, tilted so I was leaning on the side of my hip. I glanced down at my exposed breasts, orange in the firelight, but there was no way to hide them with my arms strapped up. The light might have been unbidden, but the heat felt nice. It would have been nicer if I'd actually turned towards it, exposed more of my skin to it, but modesty won over. Eventually, I could see what had been dropped next to me and it was possibly less jarring for me to see it gradually, letting the fur matted with blood and the neck twisted unnaturally come into slow focus. It had been a jack rabbit at one time. I suspected now it was our captor's dinner. Why he had dropped it a half foot away from me, I had no idea. The other woman was chained up to the adjacent wall in similar fashion to me. Arms up. Naked. Only she was sitting boldly. Her back was leaned square on the uneven wall behind her, her heels on the floor, knees up a little, her legs spread comfortably. The firelight danced across her golden skin, her beautiful burgundy nipples peeking through the gaps of her long blonde hair. I vied for a look between her legs, but there were too many moving shadows. Her head lied back casually on the wall as she watched our captor, who was arranging small logs around the fire like a tee-pee. I could have sworn there was a glint in her large, light eyes. Satisfied with the fire's sustainability, our abductor stood and started to come towards me. His shadowy shape was daunting, intimidating, and his shoulders seemed formidably wide and oddly triangular under layers of animal furs. Strips of brown mink dangled around his thighs, which were solid as tree-trunks and gnarled in hard muscle. At the last second, I remembered not to look him in the eye, and I jerked my head down. My attention was immediately harnessed by his hairy feet: bare, boney, and thrice the size of mine, the muscles, tendons and ligaments moving in unison as he crept guardedly on the balls of his feet. And the claws—it was the only word I could think of to describe them—were black, flaky, and clicked against the stone floor. Partway up his calf was an extra joint at the back of his leg, like the hock of a horse. It made his gait strange. It was toe-heel, not heel-toe, and for some reason the way he walked made me sick to my stomach. As he stopped next to the dead rabbit, a long, whining sob squeaked through the back of my throat. It was the sound of my life flashing before me. * Skinned, gutted and spinning slowly on a spit, the rabbit looked more like a large rat with no tail. My captor sat on a smooth gray log by the fire, his back to me, a rug of brown fur and black feathers draping down his shoulders. It looked like deer hide. His wet hair was long, stringy and some of it seemed to naturally twist into long dreads. He was still mostly just a silhouette against the fire, but he'd lit several candles and jammed them into little niches in the walls for extra light. Even through a blur of tears, I could see I had been brought into a cave. Icicles of stalactites dropped from the tall ceiling and most of the walls were smooth with layers of embedded minerals and sediments, but some walls had a bumpy, warty complexion. The floor was rock and compact dirt and generally uneven. The fire pit was a sunken area, roughly centered in the cavern, but the other woman and I were placed on raised spaces by the wall. Old straw still remained in my area, but it was spread out thin and gave no comfort, not like the other woman's. She was seated on a thick mattress of fresh, yellow straw with layers of shiny furs for added padding and warmth. When he was pleased with it, he slid the rabbit down off the spit carefully, burning his fingers twice and licking them. I saw just a flash of his tongue when his face was turned just right and it amazed me how long and pale pink it was and how flat the end of it could get. He ate noisily, scarfing, his shoulders hunched forward as he bent territorially over his meal, and when it looked like he was done, he brought the carcass to the back of the cavern, a darkened alcove straight ahead of me, passed the fire. I couldn't see what he was doing back there. Gazing over at the other woman, I noticed her look away and I wondered how long she'd been staring at me. She was getting up now on her knees, the chains ringing with her movement, and she stretched her long, toned arms indulgently towards the ceiling. Standing, she had a little more freedom to move around. Not much, but she could at least put her arms down to give her shoulders some relief. Her back was arched, her ribs showing a little, pushing her breasts forward. She was boyishly slender, hard with muscle and narrowed hips. Now that the extra candles made it brighter, I could see her small, conical breasts were almost all nipple and the black forest of pubic hair at the apex of her slim thighs mesmerized me and I couldn't look away. He was approaching her now. He had come out of the shadows, elbows bent as he held something in both his hands. Straight above her there was a wide ledge of rock and he set one of the objects upon it. It was a plate of food. Then he paused to caress the back of her hair with a large hand. I realize now her hair was more dishwater than blonde and the strands had a greasy, separated quality, the way hair looked when it hadn't been washed in a while. She didn't flinch from him. I think I even saw her lean into his touch. But her eyes were askance, always averted. He came to me next. I stared down at my lap, my naked thighs pressed together snugly to hide my own bush of black pubic hair. As he stopped next to me, my gaze lifted slightly, just above his knees, to see the muscles flexing in his powerful legs. They looked mostly human, except for the hock settled in the back of his shin and the fleshy pilose covering his skin. It was soft-looking, like the belly of a beagle. I think he might have bathed. Either that or I had gotten used to the stink. The smell of old festering beef had nearly faded, leaving just the spicy, woodsy scent of pine needles. I lifted my eyes further, daringly, to the gaps of his loin cloth. He had already placed something on the ledge above me and was turning away from me and I thought I got a flash of something hefty and swinging underneath. I blushed from my own curiosity. He didn't touch me like he did the other woman, or even regard me at all. Instead, he strode down into the recessed fire pit and sidestepped back into that tiny dark area in the rear of the cave. I squinted to see, but he was a shadow moving in shadow, black on black. I heard objects banging together, casual sounds of rearrangement; no doubt he was organizing all his little torture devices. He selected a few small things, brought them down to the fire and fiddled with them. I looked from her to him, hesitantly, wondering if I was also allowed to stand. The other woman saw my dilemma. She gave me a covert look and a quick gesture for me to rise. Quickly, I grabbed onto the chains and struggled to my feet. My cramped, stiff legs shook like I hadn't stood up in a week. I wondered how long it had been since my spicy Chinese take-out. Judging from my moderate to severe hunger, maybe a day. Maybe even two. Reaching up to the ledge, I brought down a chipped metal plate and scrutinized the little bits of meat. They were slightly greasy, a little tougher than chicken, but tasty. There were a few sinews of fat, but already I understood my place in the order. All of the lesser cuts were mine. In my hunger, I had forgotten my modesty. Chewing, I noticed the other woman licking the juices off her fingers, staring openly at me. Shyly, I turned to the wall and brought my elbows down to hide the flanks of my breasts. This was all very embarrassing. I didn't have the kind of muscle definition the other woman had. I stood a while longer after finishing my plate to stretch out my legs, making sure I kept faced to the wall. Our captor was sitting by the fire and it looked like he was making something. Something to scoop out our eyeballs, I was sure. I tried not to watch. Instead, I inspected the engineering of the chains, pulling, swinging and twisting them. They were rusty but strong and deep red flakes of sediments were coming off on my hands the more I fidgeted with them. They were attached to the wall very high, but about halfway up I noticed something else. Poles—rebar, actually—jutting several inches out of the stone. Two of them, approximately eight feet apart. They looked secure, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what they might be for. I imagined some sort of agonizing torment. I could sense the night was winding down. Our kidnapper retreated back into the dark little closet to put away his project and the other woman's eyes were getting heavy and lethargic. One by one, he smothered out the candles, doubling the shadows and dimming the cavern except for the bonfire in the center. Then something truly frightening came to my mind. What if I was the other woman's replacement? What if he planned to dispose of her now that I was here? Surely it had to have crossed her mind, too. But if it had, she wasn't showing it. She appeared rather nonchalant, resting on the padding of straw and furs, legs casually spread; her arms up and out, hanging on a "Y." He brought her something to drink from a metal cup and held the back of her head gently with one great hand as he raised it to her lips. I smacked my dry lips together, realizing how thirsty I was and wondered if it would be my turn for a drink, but she finished the cup and then he set it empty on the floor. Slipping something out of the waistband of his loincloth, he approached her shackles. It was a key. He unlocked her cuffs and the chains dangled unoccupied against the wall with a loud clatter. It made my heart stop. Where was he taking her? Oh my god. The eye scooper, the rebar on the wall, the deboning...it was happening now. This was it. New tears percolated as I watched our captor take the other woman by the hand and disappear into the cave tunnel. The poor thing didn't even know what was coming; she didn't even look scared, coolly rubbing her red wrists. As soon as they were gone, I jumped to my feet. I wrapped my fists around the chains and yanked and thrashed, testing the full strength of their hold. I turned around, crossing the streams and leaned back with all my strength. I even managed to prop my feet on the wall, gripping the bumpy texture with my toes, and bucked around, the chains jangling noisily together. It felt like one chain was giving a little, but I could hear him coming back for me. I wrenched harder, twisting the restraints. Out of breath, I glanced back to see how fast he was coming for me. I wasn't foolish enough to think he hadn't heard the commotion of the chains. But what I saw instead made me stop my tantrum immediately and step down from the wall. They were back. Both of them. Walking back to the bed. I couldn't see his profile through his wild mane of hair, but his wide hand was on the small of her back, guiding her. The woman on the other hand was looking right at me. And she was smugly laughing. Flushed all over, panting, tears in my eyes—I was incredulous. What just happened? Where did they go? And what did they do when they got there? I sniffed and tried to calm down. If we were going to die, it wasn't going to be tonight. Humiliated, I spun around and leaned my shoulder against the rutted wall with my back towards them, the only opportunity I had for privacy. I couldn't stop the tears and I was constantly wiping my eyes, picking the left over sleep crust out of my wet eyelashes. Peering over my shoulder, I noticed he had gone into the back room again. I heard a ceramic clink and my first thought was the key. Was that were he kept the key, when it wasn't in the waistband of his loincloth? The Cave Ch. 01 I hiked on for hours and hours, and still tried to figure out where I was on the map I had bought earlier that week. I kept marching through the thick snow that reached up to my knees, stepping into tree wells every now and then. My luck continued when the weather became worse. The wind was howling through the trees, the snow was dumping constantly. Visibility was dangerously low, and nightfall was coming soon. There was absolutely no hope for me... Until it hit me, literally. The force of it sent me tumbling in the snow. After about doing 2 summersaults, I whipped my head around to see a massive snow leopard had pounced on me, and was coming in for the kill. I scrambled in the snow, trying to dig my self out and escape, but I went nowhere. Then the leopard pounced again, sending me rolling in the snow until I hit a tree. I lay there with my eyes closed, waiting for the snow leopard to kill me. But it didn't. Instead, it grabbed the hood of my jacket and started dragging me through the snow. I kept my eyes closed, and waited until something happened. Hopefully, something good. I then opened one eye to see where I was going. I saw a hill in the distance, with a small cave carved into it. As we entered the cave, I almost gasped out loud. The cave extended only about 100ft, and about 50ft wide. The smooth, black rock was cut so that the cave had curved edges. There were 3 wooden doors on each side, six in total. In the middle of the cavern was a large, circular bed with red sheets and orange pillows, both which were made out of soft fur. The floor was carpeted with a thick, furry rug. At the end of the cave was a small waterfall that drained into a small pond. The water was crystal clear, and I guess it was used as a shower. I closed my eyes again and felt myself being lifted up in the air, then I was set down on the bed. I realized that this leopard did not mean any harm. I barely opened one eye so I could get some more detail on the snow leopard. I instantly noticed that it was a she, because of her leather bra and panties. Her breasts were huge, around the size of my head. She was thin and her soft, white fur was thick around her body. She had a beautiful ass, her cheeks were fluffy and large. I closed my eyes because she began to stare at me, sitting down with her ass only a few inches from my face. She stroked my stomach with a soft, gentle paw. "You're perfect.." She said, stroking my hair gently. My dick was getting slightly hard. "Hey, Snowi, whatcha got there?" A female voice called from where I guess was the entrance of the cave, although I couldn't tell since my eyes were closed. "I found a man, Penny" Snowi said simply. I sensed that she stood up, I slightly opened one eye to get a glimpse of what was going on. At the opening of the cave I saw.. A panda. Penny was a short, chubby panda with massive breasts that would make any man go nuts. They were much larger than Snowi's, and they looked the size of 2 overgrown watermelons. Her white and black fur was gently brushed by the breeze and was illuminated by the late afternoon sun. Her eyes were a icy blue, locked onto my body, thoroughly examining it. "Where did you find him!" Penny exclaimed. Her excitement made her breasts jiggle vigorously. "He was lost in the woods, he thought I was going to kill him," Snowi giggled, making her hypnotizing ass and breasts bounced. Penny giggled along with her, making her enormous breasts jiggle. I imagined myself being smothered and sucking on her giant nipples. "Do you think the others will like him?" Snowi asked with curiosity. "Well," Penny said with a smile "Sandra has always wanted a man to do anal with her, and Tessah has been wanting to dominate a man for quite some time." "What about Ashley and Leni?" Snowi asked, rubbing her pussy through. the leather panties. They were already stained by her wetness. "I think they would like him too, I don't know about Ashley. But Leni would like him for sure, so would Amanda." Snowi, Penny, Sandra, Tessah, Ashley, Leni, Amanda. I tried to memorize all these names because I had a feeling that they weren't going to eat me, they were going to fuck with me. My clothed erection became visible through my hiking pants. I began to sweat and tried to get my dick to calm down, but it was no hope. My dick was throbbing against my pants, creating an obvious bulge. I began to panic, but I cautiously moved my hand to fix my erection. I didn't hear what they were talking about, and I didn't care at the moment. I just prayed that they didn't noticed my erection and me trying to fix it. Which didn't work at all "Looks like someone's been eavesdropping on our little talk," Penny said with a smile. She began to walk over to the bed, along with Snowi. I jumped in surprise when she crawled onto the bed, her breasts hanging for me to see, and the only thing keeping those soft, round breasts from hitting the floor was her brown leather bra. "He looks so cute when he's surprised," She said with a giggle and a smile. Her smile was hypnotic as she stared me down with her icy blue eyes. Her smile turned from being a warm, inviting one, to a naughty one. "Whats your name?" Snowi asked. She crossed her fluffy arms that held up her breasts. I had not noticed what beautiful green eyes she had. They locked with mine and put me in a trance. I began to stutter, trying to simply say my name, but her eyes looked inviting and warm. I then managed to to say "John" as I held eye contact with Snowi. "Well, John," Penny said while crawling closer to me, her breasts swayed as she moved, "You're going to have a lot of fun when you meet the others..." "Others?" I said with a fake surprise. "Yes, there are more of us," Snowi responded as she walked towards me "They are out hunting for some food for us to eat, they will be back by morning" She continued with a naughty smile. "Who are they?" I should have said 'What' are they because I had names, but I didn't have any faces to put them to. "Well," Penny answered "Theres Sandra, a beautiful brown horse with an ass that are almost the size of my breasts." She winked at me with a mischievous smile. "Then theres Leni," Snowi continued "She is a very sexy tiger that has been wanting a man to have some fun with her." "Next is Amanda," Penny said while she started to rub her pussy through her panties "She is a red fox that could use a man like you." She stared at my dick and continued to rub her clothed vagina. Her paints were stained with her juices, hungrily licking her lips as she stared at my throbbing erection. "The other 2 are a surprise" Snowi said with a naughty look on her face. She began to walk to the other side of the round bed, and then crawled onto it. As she got up onto the bed, she said, "But for now, its just you, me, and Penny." On cue, Penny was already on top of me. She was still on all fours, but her massive breasts pressed against my face. Even though her bra was still on, both boobs were resting on my face. "Let me get that for ya hun," She said as she undid her bra. Her breasts were now exposed as she slid the bra out between my face and her magnificent juggs. Her fur was so soft, and her breasts were even softer. Her tits were the size of a CD, waiting to be sucked. Meanwhile, Snowi carefully unzipped my pants and slowly pulled them down. My dick sprang out which made Snowi giggle. She began to stroke it with a soft furry paw, and gentle massaged my balls with her other paw. My quiet moan was muffled by the 2 furry breasts that enclosed my head. "Come on baby, suck my juicy tits.." Penny said holding up her breasts and carefully placed a warm tit in my mouth. I licked her hard nipples and wrapped my mouth around her giant tit. Penny moaned as I began to suck her massive tits. Her breasts were not saggy, but very round and large. I gently bit her nipple, causing her to moan louder. I moved a hand to her other breast, and began to squeeze it. It felt so soft and warm in my hand. I pinched her nipple while sucking the other, making her squeal loudly in delight. She then laid down on me, which made her boobs press down on my head. She was surprisingly light, even though she was chubby. I wouldn't have been surprised if a third of her weight was all in her breasts. Penny spread her legs so that Snowi could get some action. I felt her paw slowly stoke my length, and another paw playing with my balls. Her mouth wrapped around the head of my penis, and slowly sucked my cock up and down. It was the most incredible sensation I had ever experienced. My head was cozily wrapped in two massive furry pillows as I sunk into the soft bed. My penis was in wonderland as Snowi began sucking faster and faster. Penny stroked my hair as she smothered me with her breasts. "Come on baby, bite and suck my big, fat, juicy nipples," Penny commanded. I sucked harder and bit down harder too. After a few seconds, her breast milk was flowing into my mouth. It tasted so creamy, so delicious, I wanted more. I bit sucked harder and harder. More milk flowed into my mouth as Penny screamed. I hadn't noticed until I came into Snowi's mouth. Snowi was panting with her tongue out as she continued to play with my balls. Penny sat up, taking the nipple out of my mouth. I tired to sit up and get some more milk from them, but she calmly put her paw on my chest and pushed me down. She smiled, and then crawled off of me. "Sit up for me baby," Penny calmly asked. I obeyed, and she crawled behind me and pressed her body against me. Snowi was smiling at my cock, which was ready for more. Snowi gently pressed me down on top of Penny. I was lying down on top of Penny, who placed her 2 love pillows between my head and hugged me. Snowi faced her ass towards me, and squatted just above my dick. She put her hands on the bed, a began to bounce her round ass on my dick slowly, as Penny massaged my head with her giant breasts which were much bigger than the size of my head. Snowi's tight pussy clamped onto my dick. She began bouncing on my manhood faster and faster. She was pretty much only moving her hips, keeping the rest of her body still. She turned back and smiled at me and her beautiful green eyes were locked onto my face which was being smothered by Penny's tits. As Snowi sped up, Penny pushed up with her hips and drove my dick deep up her pussy each time she came down. Snowi moaned loudly while Penny and I both thrusted my manhood into her. Snowi screamed in delight and started bouncing on my dick faster. Penny then focused on fucking Snowi, and stopped massaging my head with her tits. The wrapped her big furry arms around my chest, and put a few more powerful thrusts into Snowi. Penny was stronger than I thought, which was odd because she was large but not as heavy. I thrusted up into her pussy as fast and as hard as I could. Snowi could barely hold on and her legs were shaking. She screamed loudly before we both climaxed at the same time. She collapsed on top of me, and Penny and I both slowed down. Snowi's pussy was overflowing with our cum. She rolled off of me, with her tongue out panting for air. Penny slid from under me, and curled up next to me, also trying to catch her breath. "That... That was amazing" Snowi said in between breaths. She too curled up next to me and hugged me. She threw the furry blankets over the three of us. I was wrapped in a fur and furry breasts. The feeling was so amazing that I had to get back to reality. I had just fucked a panda and a snow leopard. I then grew very tired, and drifted off into a deep sleep. I could get used to this, I thought to myself. Then I was out. The Cave Ch. 01 He returned, heading back to the bed, shedding his shoulder furs. The muscles in his tomentous back flexed as he tossed them aside. The woman was straightening the fur blankets. Gasping, I faced the wall, blinking rapidly in surprise. Did...did they share a bed? Sneaking another look, I saw they were both in the center of the mattress. She was sitting in front of him and he was scooted up close to her so that her back was against his chest. It looked like he was nuzzling the back of her head but I could hear the unmistakable sound of licking. I turned away again, frozen, stunned at what was happening across the room. He was preening her. It was so...primal...so...animal kingdom. And I wanted to keep watching. The manacles made the least bit of sound as I eased back down to the floor, slowly, so that I didn't disturb them. I was afraid what they might think to see me observing, but I couldn't help myself. He was kneeling over her now, licking under her chin before nudging her arms up over her head and working on her underarms. I could tell she was ticklish there the way she squirmed and I found it endearing, rather than controlling, the way he pinned down her arms down to keep her still. But then he lowered down to her breasts and I gave a sharp inhale as my whole body flushed hot. He paid special attention to her tapered nipples, and she actually arched up against that long pink tongue. He circled nonstop around her areolas until he made her groan. I wasn't exactly sure what I was watching, but I could not tear my eyes away. Some kind of ritualistic cleaning. It was one thing I had noticed about her, how clean her body was, even though she had been naked in this cave for at least three weeks. He took care of her and I wondered if he would take that kind of care for me. The thought of his animal tongue sliding around my bare skin was shamefully arousing and made the blood rush to my groin. By the time he had reached her pubic area, my chest was throbbing. She parted her legs for him and he slathered his tongue all around her inner thighs before halting to inquisitively sniff her private spot. He began cleaning her pubic hair, tentatively, as if to savor it. He didn't linger there for very long, but he did manage to elicit two low moans from her. He bathed her quickly but thoroughly, down her legs to her feet. One of his massive hands came up to touch her side and she seemed to know that meant to turn over. He started again at the center of her back, cleaning, slurping, licking, tongue flattening loosely, languidly along her flesh. The fire was starting to go out and it was getting dimmer inside the cave, but I still couldn't pull away my gaze. When he had cleaned her down to her feet, he touched her side again and this time she brought her legs in, standing on her hands and knees, her rear end displayed for him as he took a few hesitant sniffs, then a couple delicate licks across her butt cheeks, before plunging his tongue into her crevice. His large hands came up to hold her tush steady so he could wash her properly. She moaned again, louder, and the sound of her enjoyment made my nipples shrink and a gush of wetness warmed the inside of my thighs. Dreamily hanging from my chains, I let my legs spread open. It was easier to relax in dim light, and when the only other two people in the room were entirely occupied with each other. My sheepishness was swiftly draining away, my stimulation completely unexpected. I realized if they didn't want me to watch, they could have gone to another part of the cave. I had been so focused on his tongue that I hadn't noticed the sinister projection emerging from the strips of his loincloth. It was dark and long and curved upwards. But his face was still locked to the back of her thighs and she was bucking furiously and groaning in intense pleasure. And then he hopped up to his feet, squatting in that queer way on his haunches, holding steady on her hips. He slid inside her, pumping vigorously, hips thrusting as he worked her. It was so primal, so beastly the way he didn't kneel, but squatted. And she held her rear so high for him, taking him as fully as she could. Below her, her breasts swayed with their movement. I could see his balls pendulum swinging under him and the ferocious driving made them slap her pubic area. A low growl emanated within him and with a final shove against her backside, he held it deep inside her and let out an animalistic howl that seemed to echo forever. When it was over, they both collapsed sideways. My eyes itched from the strain of the darkness and I closed them to give them some relief. Their breathing evened-out and soon it was almost black again, just a few coals lingering. I was wide awake, restless after what I just witnessed, listening to her soft breathing against his infrequent snore. I had never spent the night in a cave before and felt unsettled at the constant tune of dripping water and the occasional interlude of falling rocks. I pulled on the chains, trying to slip my wrists through the manacles, but they cut into the meat of my thumbs. The restraints were starting to jangle from my effort and I feared I would wake them. Actually, I wanted to wake them, the woman at least. She was free. She could unlock me and we could both escape. But I waited long into the night and nothing. I didn't understand. Did she want to be here? He'd obviously let her go before, he trusted her enough let her sleep next to him, but not enough to unchain her while he was gone. I made some subtle throat noises to alert her, even choked out the worst cough of all time, but she was either sound asleep or ignoring me. I gave up on that and just sat there, and I don't know how long I stared at the dying red ember in the fire pit, but I was asleep before it was gone. * It was less traumatic waking up the next morning to soft, warm firelight and the serene song of spitting sparks. My abductor had rebuilt the fire and replaced the candles around the room but I didn't see him anywhere. The blonde woman was harnessed back up in her chains, idly staring at the flames, sitting indifferently with one knee up, black pubic hair gleaning in the light. Her tresses cascaded down the front of her chest, shiny, but heavy and a little oily. It was kept snarl free from their captor's strong tongue, but it wasn't the rinse and repeat treatment I was used to in the shower. Reaching for the fangs of stalactites on the ceiling, I stretched my arms and shifted to the other, slightly less numb butt cheek. The noise of my shackles alerted her of my rousing and she looked over. She smiled briefly, a thin, tight-lipped expression of feigned compassion. I responded with a crooked grin and asked, "What's your name?" "What's yours?" she snapped. It sounded like an accusation. "Um, Layla." She considered me a moment and conceded. "I'm Amy." I tipped my head towards the tunnel that ultimately led to the outside. "Who's he?" "It's Pratt." "Oh." For some reason, I couldn't picture him telling her that. I couldn't picture him telling her anything. "So, he can talk?" Rolling her eyes, she gave a little scoff and changed the subject. "So did you enjoy the show last night?" My face was on broil and my armpits started to trickle, but I was glad she brought it up so I didn't have to. "Did he hurt you?" "Did I look hurt?" she asked. Her lips turned up a little. She was being facetious. "You're not afraid of him?" "I was." It looked like Amy was going to say something else and after a few moments one of her chains rattled as she shrugged. I didn't understand. Who wouldn't be scared? Clearly, Amy was just going along with it, giving in to Pratt's demands so she didn't incur some kind of punishment. "Have you ever tried to escape?" "Don't waste your energy." That didn't really answer my question, but I let it go. Maybe she had tried once or twice, but she certainly didn't succeed and it petrified me to see what she'd been reduced to. "Where are we?" "I told you, I don't know." "Where do you live?" Please don't say here, please don't say here, please don't say here. "Two miles south of Tower. You?" Her answer intimidated me. I never could wrap my head around cardinal directions. "I'm staying at my uncle's cabin on Pike Bay." "Fancy," she said, but her tone was less than impressed. "I only go there when I need to work," I muttered. My cat and I had a permanent residence in Duluth. She scoffed again. "What do you do? Mine the open pits on the Mesabi Range?" I forced a polite smile. "I'm a writer." That's when it hit me. No one was going to be looking for me. My mother knew not to expect many responses to her emails when I was working and certainly my cat wasn't going to organize a state-wide woman-hunt for me. My only hope was my editor, but correspondence with her was rare until the due date of my latest project was ominously looming. "What do you do?" I asked. It was more or less to fill up the silence that followed. "Well, I haven't been to work in three weeks, so by now I'm probably unemployed." I heard something from the tunnel and when I turned to look, Pratt was standing there, draped in his rigid furs and feathers. Apparently our conversation had masked the sound of his approach and seeing him there made me jump and gasp. His face was obscured by the curtain of dark dreads and wild locks that would put any hair band to shame, but there was something so strict and aggressive in his posture, it made my stomach twist. I looked at Amy. Her eyes flicked up once to Pratt, but then they slid sidelong. The tension between them was palpable, but the spell was broken when he turned away and shot a disdained look in my direction, too quick for me to glimpse his grotesque face. Only then did I notice he was holding a small broken basket, cradled in one of his large hands like a large woven egg. I was ready to get up and stretch. My legs were stiff and my tailbone ached, but I crossed the streams of my chains and refrained from moving my limbs too apparently. I checked the status of my fetters again to see if they could be undone, but they were exactly as I remember, leaving red marks of irritation where my wrists chaffed against the wide cuffs. Pratt moved around the cavern and I noticed him over my shoulder next to Amy, placing something from the basket to the metal plate on the ledge above her. Distracting myself, I began lightly tracing the designs in the wall with the pad of my finger, ignoring him when he started to come over. The breathing deep in his lungs was low and controlled. He poured what was left from the basket into his hands and showed them to me. A pile of pink raspberries were slightly squashed from his powerful fingers, some of them still with the stems. The sharp, black tips of his fingers were curled around the meager meal and I noticed his thumb and finger were stained purple from his harvest. When he was sure I'd looked at them, he dropped them onto my plate on the ledge above me. I had to flinch to avoid his powerful elbow when he raised his arm. He had obviously spent all morning picking berries in some hidden copse of bushes so that Amy and I could have something to eat. Although if he hadn't plucked us from our real lives and tied us up, he wouldn't have the burden of keeping us fed. But for some reason, that made me sad. It seemed keeping our bellies full was all he had. I elevated my gaze so that when he started to turn, I would catch his eye. I was going to break the rules, but with good reason, and got my first real look at his face. At first glance, he was vaguely feline, but on closer inspection, I could see his delicately human features were set on a wide neck of muscle and throat. I forced a smile and for some inexplicable reason, I made sure it was a closed smile. "Thanks," I whispered. As if in response, his finely sculpted nostrils flared once. His sly eyes were very light brown, almost golden, and acutely expressive as they studied me. His attractively soft lips were grimly flattened and his chin and jaw were covered in patches of wiry auburn. What happened next played out so fast, the only thing I was truly aware of was the shooting pain from my nose all the way up between my eyes. I heard my plate clanging against the stone floor and I realized he'd angrily flung my breakfast across the room. When the stars stopped flashing in my vision, I found myself staring in astonishment at his fangs, his nose and brow blending together to wrinkle with intimidation. A short, mean growl warned me of my impertinence. Dropping my face, my teary eyes burned from the shock of his strong elbow and my bruised feelings. I had no doubt striking me had been accidental, but it didn't make the pain less and while I didn't see Pratt walk away, I felt his breeze as he did. Nudging closer to the wall, I coddled my injured nose. I didn't even want to look at Amy, complacently eating her berries. Christ, I hadn't felt this way since I was sent to time-out in the fourth grade. For some reason after that, all I could brood about was my editor, imagining what rare instance she might need to call me mid-project to inevitably prompt my rescue. I'd had enough of this game. * I sulked for most of the day. Of course, it wasn't about the berries. I didn't care that the rigid pecking order had left me hungry on top of humiliated. I just wanted to go home, feed my cat and check my email. I wasn't even craving spicy Chinese, I'd settle for a medium mushroom at Luigi's, since this was clearly all just punishment for indulging my peppery tastes. My day could generally be divided two ways. Standing or sitting. If I was sitting, I was only thinking about when I was going to be standing again. If I was standing, I was usually bashfully facing the wall, wishing I was sitting. A couple times I considered squatting, to really stretch the muscles that were tight, but that would very obscenely expose parts of my body. I didn't want to stack mortified on top of the humiliation I was already experiencing. Amy was not as restive as I was, however, and didn't switch positions half as many times as I did. Sitting, standing, whatever her position, she sat as she pleased, whatever was most comfortable for her at the time. Knees up, legs out, thighs apart, it didn't matter to her. Standing, she was just as unconcerned, her arms spiraled casually up in the chains, and while she'd been stripped of just about every dignity she had, she actually seemed quite poised. So much so, I was unable to keep my eyes off the black fur covering her secret place. I would sneak looks out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes I think she knew. Other times, I think she wanted me to look. But it was Pratt's attention she was competing for. All day, her eyes were glued to him. Every time she adjusted her stance, threw her hair back or lifted a knee, it was all for him; simple actions, all designed to catch Pratt's eye. And he was taking strides not to notice, but if that organ under his loincloth was any indication, he was aware of everything. I inhaled sharply the first time it appeared. It swelled impressively through the strips of brown mink, bobbing indecently as he strode, with purpose, from one task to another. I became accustomed to examining it and it was the only part of him, that I could see, that wasn't covered in that flesh colored fuzz. Making an appearance several times throughout the day it was looking red, angry and shiny by the end of the afternoon. Pratt spent most of his time at the far end of the cave, in his room of little objects. He'd moved around some of the candles for task lighting, and I could see a series of wall ledges in that dark nook where he stored things. I couldn't tell everything he kept there. Scraps of metal, small bones, maybe, the few dishes he possessed for our comfort. He'd bring something over to the fire, tinker with it, bring it back to the shelves, select something else. In between, he'd tend to the fire, adding small pieces of lumber. A few times, he brought Amy water, tipping the cup to her lips as she drank, stroking her hair with his black claws. And if he had an erection at the time, she would openly stare at it. I was sure if she hadn't been restrained she'd have reached out and touched it. He brought me water only once. At least the cup was full and I finished it completely. It tasted mostly clean, full of minerals with a swampy aftertaste. I could die from a parasite, but I could also die of thirst. I rolled the dice. I had drunk from the hose as a kid, I was probably immune. Pratt didn't lay a hand on me as he held the cup up to my mouth. Instead, he propped his sinewy forearm on one knee as he squatted down beside me. It wasn't difficult to remember to keep my gaze down this time, as my eyes were instantly drawn up his loincloth. His scrotum was like two plums in a prickly sack and it sagged low, almost touching the floor. I remembered the way they looked last night in the easy light, swinging aggressively between his feet, pummeling Amy's nether region. The memory put my cheeks on bake. After we'd both had our water, but before he left to gather our dinner, he unshackled Amy and took her to the tunnel by the hand. She looked puny next to him, and the shock of every step made the flesh of her rear quiver and her nipples vibrate. Pratt had taken her out of the cavern once already today, like he had done last night, and I wondered where he was taking her and what he was doing with her. His penis was dormant for now, but even so, after their libidinous display last night, I couldn't imagine what they would be doing that would warrant such discretion. I had pretty much conceded to the shackles by now. My alone time was now spent in lewd positions, stretching my muscles in ways my humility didn't allow in certain company. They were still holding hands as Pratt led Amy back to her mat of fur and straw. He secured her cuffs, carefully, gently, and stroked her hair again. Then he cupped her elbows in his massive hands to bring her hands to his face and that pale pink tongue appeared again, meticulously running up and down her hands, curling around her fingers. When he was done, she shook her hands to air dry them and he turned away, came towards me. Uh-oh. Whatever this was, it was now my turn. I stumbled back uneasily as he approached. He produced a key, which seemed too small for his large fingers to coordinate, and two clicks later the chains clanked down and I was massaging my raw wrists. He motioned to the tunnel with one black claw, but seemed wary to touch me. He didn't take my hand or my arm or my shoulder. I followed the lift of his finger, my arms folding around my chest to keep my breasts from swaying as I walked. I entered the dim passageway slowly and a cold breeze slapped me, wrinkling my nipples. I wondered if the air was coming straight from the outdoors. Pratt walked a step ahead of me and the further through the passageway we went, the louder the running water sounded. I was apprehensive of the dark side rooms as we passed by them and the freezing stone floor actually burned the soles of my feet. Ahead, we came across a fork in the cave. The wind that whistled through the corridor was absolutely chilling and I hugged myself tighter as Pratt led me down the right tunnel. Pratt stopped at the dead end and turned around. Like a sign post, his arm shot sideways into a smaller cavern. I peeked inside. There was a single torch, the shadows of the stalagmites on the wall looked like scary pointed teeth and I felt like I was walking into the maw of a giant shark. The Cave Ch. 01 Right away, I could tell the floor was different in here. Softer. Looser. Pratt circled around me to a spot further in the cave and I glanced back, wondering what would happen if I turned and ran. Find that fork in the cave and go down the left side instead. How far would I get? Far enough to call for help? Far enough to escape? But Pratt was pointing to a spot on the floor and I came closer and peered down to a tidy hole, just a bit of dirt scooped out of the floor and piled neatly next to it. I wanted to look him in the face to show my confusion, but I feared reprimand like with the berries. I honestly didn't know what he wanted. He made a chuffing sound and I had the oddest feeling he might have been laughing at me. Centering himself over the hole, he lowered down into a squatted position. We were nearly the same height that way. This time, he didn't seem to mind my eye contact and his expression was heavy and sincerely apologetic. "Oh god," I muttered when I knew what he meant for me to do. Amy had warned me against talking, but this must have been forgiven considering the situation. Pratt rose to his feet and took a step back, the extent of the privacy I was allowed. The thing was, I really had to go. I had been ignoring my bladder all day, but if I had to just make water, I think I could have done it without problem. But I didn't just have to make water. And it made me want to cry. I held it back because I knew if I started that, this might never get done. I had no trouble averting my gaze now. I counted to three and crouched down over the hole he had dug for me. At first, I kept my knees modestly together, but I knew that wasn't going to work and split them, clasping onto my knees. I was done more quickly than I thought I would. There was something very natural about stooping like that to do my business. Of course, there were no toiletries to clean up with, but this new way of doing things was surprisingly mess free and when I had taken an extra minute to drip dry, I stood up to show I had finished. And that's when I saw his penis, pressing through the streamers of fur on his waist. My eyes flicked up to his. They glittered at me. I couldn't look up. I couldn't look down. I didn't know where to look. It was different with just the two of us, without the buffer of Amy to distract him. And there was something very personal about this erection, when I had assumed they had all been for Amy up until now. Honestly, I didn't know why I cared so much. Pratt kneeled down and began filling in the hole with the excavated dirt, patting it down with both hands and I got a very close look at his organ wavering out from behind his loincloth. Thick and twisted with streaks of veins, its triangular head glistened with discharge and a drop of it landed in the dirt like a raindrop. He led me back to the hallway and let me go first this time and I was sure that was so he could block the way to the exit. Amy was sitting shiftless on her bed but there was some agitation in her face when we came into view and I wondered if Pratt's excitement was still obvious behind me. It was, I discovered a moment later as Pratt clamped the cuffs on my forearms. For a short instant after clicking the second restraint into place, he grazed the top of my arm with the knuckle of his finger. I didn't hate it. In fact, it gave me a pleasurable shiver. But then he was gone, retreating to Amy in determination. I could tell she wasn't expecting it, as a wide-eyed expression of sheer panic came over her face. Picking her up in one swoop, he deposited her to the ledge above her where he put our meals and she immediately grabbed onto the wall in alarm. He flung Amy's legs over his shoulders and wedged his face into her hirsute crotch and began to devour her. She rolled her head back and moaned. The whole thing happened so fast, I just stared in disbelief. The greedy slurps, the breathy groans and the deep predatory growls made my body tingle uncontrollably. Watching, I melted against the wall and for the first time since I arrived, I wasn't thinking about covering up or keeping my body strategically turned. Amy's orgasm came swiftly, bucking wildly against his face, thigh muscles bulging around his neck, tendons standing out in her skinny forearms as she buried both hands into the back of his tangled hair. She had barely collected her wits when Pratt took her down from the ledge and held her against his chest with one of his mighty arms. His other arm dropped down to cradle his penis in his hand and curve it upwards. Slowly, it vanished inside of her. With boundless energy, Pratt did the work, thrusting up, black tipped fingernails puckered into the flesh of her thighs. Amy was groaning, her buttocks contracting as she acclimated to him, but I could tell she was already weary. She could hardly keep her legs folded around his narrow hips and her head swung back, lips parted, as if she were a rag. Pratt roared his climax. Spasms rippled through his legs as he briefly stumbled, catching his breath, nostrils flaring. Finally, he dropped backwards in the pile of furs. Amy slumped against his chest. I could see her slowly rising and falling from his breathing and I heard the ticking of Pratt's claws as he lightly tickled her back. I was still standing, propped against the cave wall, holding the chains like a swing. My inner thighs were slick as I pressed my legs together, striving for some relief, watching as Pratt's face rotated toward me, eyes darkening as he peered over the lumps of fur bedding. The side of his mouth rose up into what looked like a snarl, his teeth bared. Then I thought maybe it wasn't a snarl, but his best attempt at a smirk. And it bothered me. I didn't want it to, but it did. * "What did you do to him in there?" Amy was strapped back up in her manacles, recovering. She was positively glowing with relaxed bliss. Pratt was gone. "Nothing," I said. "Nothing?" she repeated in doubt. "He's never come at me like that before." I shrugged. I didn't really want to talk about it. It was all still bugging me. "So what happened? He brought you in...he pointed to the floor..." I scowled. What did she want me to say? "There was a hole," I said. "And I used it." Something horrible came to mind then and I gasped at her. "Was I not supposed to? "Yes, that's what the hole is for," she laughed. "I remember my first hole." I smiled dryly. I wasn't sure how to take that. Was she already looking back on these three weeks as fond memories? This was all so warped. "Of course, I didn't use my hole right away. I held mine for three days." "Three days?" I couldn't imagine holding it for three more seconds after Pratt showed me my hole. I wondered...if it took Amy three days to empty her bowels in front of Pratt, how long before they were screwing like bunnies? And what did it mean that I bent down to do my business the very moment I was given opportunity? I was beginning to feel ashamed about it and I couldn't really figure out why. Because I had a bowel movement? That wasn't a very good reason. Basic human needs should be fulfilled without guilt. Without shame. Amy was giving me a careful look, appraising me. My legs were stretched out on the floor, crossed at the ankles, slightly angled on my hip to hide my pubic area from her. Not that she hadn't already seen it a hundred times as I stood and sat in my little area. I wasn't ready to be so casual with her. "What happened after that?" she asked, firm, expecting an honest answer. "Nothing. I...stood up, he filled in the hole and we walked out." "Huh," she said and retreated into herself, deep in thought. Instantly, I became self-conscious. "Is that...not normal?" She sighed. "It's normal." Normal. As if any of this was normal. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but I wasn't sleepy at all and the firelight made my eyelids seem see-through. But I found if I pretended to sleep there wasn't the awkward tension of making any more small talk. Talking to Amy was like talking to someone on Mars. I just didn't get her. Pratt wasn't gone long and he made short work skinning and gutting the rabbit and soon he was spinning it over the fire. I think he saved the parts of the rabbit we didn't eat, the fat, the head, the skin, even the feet, but in a different part of the cave. When the rabbit was cooked, Pratt ate his portion first and divided the rest for Amy and me, placing the scraps in the alcoves above us where we could reach. I brought my plate down so I could see what I was eating and noticed there was a little more than there was yesterday. I glanced over at Pratt, who was poking the fire with a long stick, and his aureate eyes flicked up to mine, lingering a beat longer than usual. I knew he wouldn't give me Amy's share, but it didn't mean he wouldn't give me some of his own share. He was making up for this morning's debacle with the raspberries. Before bed, Pratt put away all his little projects, extinguished the candles, removed his body furs and released Amy for her nightly grooming. I tried not to watch this time and stared at the crackling fire instead, but the wet sounds of licking and soft sighs had nearly the same effect on me as watching. By the time she was clean, Amy was ready for him again and Pratt took her slowly from behind as they lied on their sides. I couldn't help peering at Amy's nude form in the firelight, her small breasts jostled by Pratt's gradual piston as he tweaked a dark rose nipple with large, black-tipped fingers. She raised her bent knee and then his long claws appeared between her thighs, playing with her dark wreath of pubic hair before designating a finger to trace circles over her clitoris. Pratt had enough stamina and patience to hold back until she was ready. During their combined climax, I closed my eyes, but their moans and whispers occupied the cave, echoing around me, bewildering and unending. I didn't care Amy got the good bed. I didn't care she got the better cuts of meat or the majority of the water rations, but in that muddled and confusing instant I wanted it to be me wrapped up in those furs instead of her. The next couple days were much of the same. Berries in the morning, rabbit or wild chicken in the evening and in the afternoon, Pratt pattered industriously around the cave, ignoring his erections, while Amy stewed in her chains. He would bring us to the other cavern after both meals and once in between so we could relieve ourselves and fed us cups of water often through the day. Amy and Pratt made love—if that's what they considered it—at least twice in a day. Both mornings I woke up to ghostly sighs and whimpers in pitch darkness, considerately subdued so as not to wake me, and of course the mandatory sex after Amy's ritualistic grooming. Although I had gotten used to it, by no means was I desensitized of it. My body responded without my consent until it was singing in constant falsetto. I contributed it to my lapse in regular sex. Steady boyfriends were becoming few and far between lately as men my age were settling down to have their families. Apparently, their biological clocks had been set much earlier than mine. I spent a lot of my time thinking about Amy's devotion. Pratt gave us everything we needed. Food, water...exercise, I would think with a little smirk. I had to admit being tied up to a grotto wall was more thrilling than I originally would've thought, but I didn't think I could give up everything, dedicate my life to being Pratt's...toy. Maybe I would think differently if I was allowed the same liberties Amy had. Outside this place, I had a career, a mom in Duluth and a cat. It wasn't much, but it was mine. I don't think I was ready to give that up. And yet, there was something intriguing about becoming a full-time sex thing. Amy's decision to be that fascinated me. I found it almost spiritual. To give up all the comforts of modern life, donate her body, give herself over completely...I could think of some religions that preached the same concepts. Sometimes, during ordinary moments in the cave, when Amy was napping and Pratt was rearranging his shelves or tidying up, I would stand to stretch, facing the wall of course, and trace the layers in the wall. Escape was on my mind most of all. Whenever Pratt took Amy into the other room (he always took Amy first), sometimes I would tug and pull on my chains to see if the one was loose or if I was just imagining it. I think I was. But it made me feel better. Like I was actually doing something to escape. Not that it really mattered if one chain was loose or not. Even if I managed to wriggle it out of the wall, I was still shackled up to the other one. It seemed Pratt had the only key, but he didn't always keep it in the belt of his loincloth. Usually at the end of the night he'd go into his dark alcove and I'd see him put his fingers in his waistband, reach up to a high ledge and I'd hear a faint ceramic clink as he put it away. I wondered if he kept a spare there, too. I could use it to escape, if only I had the kind of freedom Amy had. I realized the only way to get that was for Pratt to notice me more. So, I sat suggestively, ogled his erections, and didn't move away when he came close...but it only lasted about an hour. I felt ridiculous. However, I didn't give up, not then anyway. I tried to put my hand on his penis while he was burying my waste, but I lost my nerve and touched one of the mink tails on his loincloth instead, as if I was admiring how soft it was. He looked down at my hand first, then at me. I lowered my eyes like I was supposed to. His cock was red, the veins bloated and I noticed a wrinkling of flesh just under the spear-shaped head. My heart was drumming out of control, not in arousal, but fear. I let the fur tail drop out of my hand and froze, staring at his wavering genitalia, my fingers just a few inches away. I moved closer. He made a reproving noise in his throat. I ignored it and moved closer. Then he growled and swatted my hand. Whatever Amy had, I certainly didn't have it. While I was finally convinced we weren't here to be horribly murdered, I was confused by my role. If he didn't want from me what he wanted from Amy, why was I here? Of all the cars speeding five miles over the limit on Highway 169, why did he run in front of mine? On my fourth morning waking up in the cave, the profile of Pratt's silhouette was in the center of the room, nursing a small fire. He hadn't lit any candles yet and it was very dim. I could hear Amy breathing and thought she might still be sleeping. I loved the smell of pine branches burning; it seemed strongest in the morning, before I got used to it. Pratt rose to his feet, circled the fire and moved one of the logs for better circulation. He considered the fire a moment and sat back down on the adjacent sitting log. He wasn't wearing his shoulder furs yet and I could see the muscle definition in his chest and the way the lean skin folded together at his belly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his black tipped fingers laced loosely together. The hair grew thicker, browner, between his dark brown nipples and in the pits of his arms. His golden eyes gleamed in the fire and I wondered the sorts of things he thought about in quiet moments like this. The side of my butt cheek had been numb for a while and I extended my legs to situate more comfortably on the hard floor. I pumped my hands a few times to get the blood flowing through my arms again. I yawned. I stretched. My chains softly clinked against the wall, but they didn't disturb Pratt from his reverie. I knew I would have to stand soon, but I was enjoying the peace of the snapping fire. I leaned my head back on the wall to contemplate it. Then something alerted Pratt. Raising his chin, he swiveled his head towards the tunnel. I couldn't hear a thing, but I had guessed long ago his senses might be better than mine. Still I held my breath and listened, analyzing Pratt's face for a change in expression. His nostrils widened once. Twice. He turned his head the other way, slowly, sniffing, following some scent, honing in on it. His eyes shimmered wildly and my skin prickled as I wondered if a predator had gotten into the cave. When his eyes locked on mine, I started, shackles ringing, my legs automatically pressing together. I forgot to look away but then I questioned if he could even see me so far into the shadows. He jumped up, strode around the fire and he began stooping, his digitigrade legs crouching in that primitive way of his until he was stalking on all fours. He stopped at my feet and squatted, blocking so much of the light I couldn't see his face anymore. But I could hear his quick sniffling sounds like that first night in the cave. I glanced at Amy. She was just a hill of furs in the bed. Leaning down on his hands, Pratt sniffed my ankle. He was careful not to touch me, although as he came closer, the soft fur of his loin cloth slipped over the top of my feet. He lingered at the seam of my inner thighs, not just sniffing anymore for the sake of detecting scent, but savoring it. I could feel his slow exhales on my legs as he inched his way closer to the black mound of curls under my belly button, and I had a feeling it had been his target this whole time. I squirmed uncomfortably. I was embarrassed by my odor, but I could hardly help it. With their constant fucking, I was in a suspended state of arousal and my lack of toiletries only added to the problem. I could feel the squirt of fresh secretions seeping down my already soaking thighs and it mortified me that he could smell it. He was leaned in so close I could feel his breath weaving through my wiry patch of hair. My breathing escalated into quick pants and before I could stop myself, I unlocked my knees. Deliberately, I rotated my legs out, pressing the soles of my feet together as I drew them in, opening myself up. The muscles in his back flexed as he lowered himself even further, his head bobbing eagerly with the new smells wafting up. I whimpered in my throat and desperately pushed the back of my head into the wall as I drew my hips upwards to meet his mouth. I saw his head bob up, recoiling slightly and I groaned, realizing he only meant to sniff. Snorting cheerfully, he moved on. His head tilted, sniffing up the side of my waist, around the swell of my right breast, being very cautious not to touch me. I peered down at his desire, just now showing itself between the flaps of fur tails. I recognized the thin sleeve of skin as an uncircumcised penis, smoothing out the organ's contours, and as it grew, the wedge-shaped head glistened as it made its appearance, mere millimeters from dragging across my thigh. His delicate nose was lingering in the crook of my armpit, another wonderful smell, I was sure. I craned my neck down to get a glance at the black stubble of armpit hair, the white crust of my solid deodorant had long worn away. Four days without a shower or even a sponge bath had left me with a film of sweat and debris. The bottoms of my feet were filthy from the dirt floor and my hands were ruddy from the rust on the chains. My hair felt greasy when it swept against my face and neck. I'm sure I possessed a whole spectrum of scents to keep him entertained. During his inspection, Pratt touched me for the first time in two days—if the elbow bump to my nose counted as touching. With his tongue, he gave a tentative lick across the surface of my armpit, his prickly tongue making a rough, abrasive sound over my four days of hair growth. I flinched sideways from the sensitivity of it and he rumbled a warning in his throat. I took a deep breath and waited for him to take another taste and when he did it tickled and I smiled. The Cave Ch. 02 It felt real, the dream. I dreamed I was naked, shackled to a wall deep in a cave, fed and watered by a creature not quite a man, not quite a beast. His name was Pratt. And there was another woman there, Amy, who had been there longer than me. Pratt favored her and I could see why. She was strong, beautiful and confident, but she was also wildly jealous whenever Pratt showed the least bit of interest in me. One day, she angered Pratt with her envy and he cast her out of the cave. I kept having this dream. Every time I closed my eyes, it was always there. And then my chains would rattle softly, reminding me I was still in it and it was all true. True, except for one thing. Amy had not been banished. I suspected she was dead. * Three days. Without windows, telling time in the cave was impossible. Before, routine marked passage of time. Berries for breakfast, wild game for dinner, and when the fire was out, it was time to sleep. Now, I didn't know if I'd slept two hours or twelve. Every time I woke, I'd eavesdrop for Pratt's heavy breathing or low whimpers only to determine if he was still there, then I'd listen to my belly as it called out for food. I was afraid to cry. I didn't want to waste precious water by weeping it down my face. Pratt never bothered to build a fire or light any candles. Though I couldn't see him, I knew he was tucked tightly in the bed of straw and furs. Sometimes his faint whines sounded like crying. Whatever it was he'd done to Amy, he was feeling bad about it. Three days. I felt partially at fault. The shallow laceration she'd left across my chest when she pushed me was almost all scab now and every time it started to crazily itch, I'd remember that moment everything changed. And yet, I still didn't understand it. Amy made a mistake. She was sorry, but Pratt was unable to forgive her. But while tethered to the wall, sitting in a puddle of my own piss—cold, hungry, and thirsty—I wondered: who was really being punished? I had been holding on to the notion Pratt would eventually have to start taking care of himself, that he was going to have to hunt for food, if not for me, then for himself. This was the one thing that kept me going. But sitting on that hard, cold floor with my arms shackled in a "V" above my head, listening to Pratt's muffled whimpers, I was convinced he was going to let himself die and whatever he had done to Amy, he was no longer able to live with himself. Three days. The longest a human could go without water. * "Rules of Three," I had read about last year while doing research for an article I had written about surviving Minnesota winters. It was a fluff piece and most of it was tongue in cheek, but that didn't mean my research wasn't valid. Three minutes without air, three hours without shelter (during a blizzard), three days without water, and three weeks without food. But there were cases of people who had lasted up to ten days without water. For some reason, I didn't think I was a part of that minority. Although besides the pounding in my head and constant lethargy, I was definitely feeling hungrier than I was thirsty. But it was water I dreamed of. Swimming naked in a warm spring, surrounded in mist, roaring waterfalls, and balmy air, looking up at blue skies and waving palms, I swallowed the clean water as it came into my mouth. I swam forever, without fatigue, doing water tricks I never knew I could do, propelling underwater like a graceful mermaid—without even plugging my nose with my fingers. I was having the time of my life...until I gulped a mouthful of water and it sputtered down the wrong tube. Floundering, thrashing, I sunk down like a hunk of steel. I was choking when I woke. Immediately I was aware my arms were free. They were struggling underneath my body, pushing to sit up so I could catch my breath. An instant later, something warm fell over me and a fur blanket tucked itself around my naked body. I was in Pratt's lap. To keep me partially upright, one of his arms was braced firmly around my shoulder blades. Water dripped from my lips and ran down my neck. In a heartbeat, my coughing fit turned into hysterical sobs. Everything I had been afraid to cry about before poured out of me. Dehydrating to death, soiling myself, the constant hunger, Amy, my mom, my cat, my editor in LA...it all rushed back to me in a torrent of tears. I was only distantly mindful of Pratt's attempts at comfort: rocking me, smoothing my hair, licking my cheeks raw with a scratchy, flat tongue, soothing me until I was half lucid again. For now, with Pratt, all was forgiven. I was just exalted to be alive. When all I had left was hiccups and dry heaves, I was put at ease with my head against the side of his narrow ribcage, listening to his solid heart, the zest of pine and musk filling my nostrils, the tips of my fingers stroking the smooth, calvous spot on his breast bone where his fur didn't grow. Pratt never really let me touch him before and the moment was a novelty. It sickened me how reliant I had become, his pet, dependent on him for all my needs. In the real world, I had been taking care of myself for so long it was debasing to think of myself like this. But I also realized I had been taking Pratt for granted. These last few days reminded me my survival relied solely on his sense of responsibility. If he died, I died. Soon, I felt his tongue running through the top of my tangled, oily hair. I found this act so calming, so pacifying, especially now after all these days of uncertainty. Shivers and goose bumps occupied my skin when he combed back the hair around my ear. Several times I was nearly asleep right there in his lap, but then he would come across a snarl and shake his head a little to unravel it from the tiny barbs on his tongue. A little while later, when my hair was smooth and heavy from dampness, I awoke from my half sleep as he lied me down on the soft furs. He hovered over me on his hands and haunches and continued my bath, slathering his tongue across the front of my shoulders. As his tongue worked its way downwards, focusing on my dirtiest places like my armpits and the sweaty area under my cumbersome breasts, I was floating in near sedation, utterly tranquil. But when he began grooming my pubic hair, part of me began to stir. My breathing rasped in my dry throat and my back arched against my will as his prickly tongue parted my nether lips and cleansed inside every fold and pleat. My hips betrayed me as they began moving to anticipate him, working my heated clitoris under his mouth so that he might touch it, even accidentally. He left me wanting more when he lowered down to scrub my thighs and knees. Faintly whimpering, I gave up and planted my rear back down on the bed. Stroking my waist with a large, bony thumb, he signaled for me to turn over. I was sure I hadn't the strength to do this, but I managed to roll face down and let him continue his cleaning. I parted my legs in expectation as he neared my backside and lifted my hips off the bed so that most of my weight was on my knees. He gave my sex a few gentle laps from behind and then dragged his tongue through the trench of my buttocks. My groan was stifled in the blankets and I began squeezing fistfuls of fur as he touched that familiar itch. But he only exacerbated it with a few tantalizing passes over my tender sphincter, leaving it on fire as he moved to the small of my back. He ended the grooming at my hair again, running his tongue through it to make doubly sure it was knot-free and then kneeled by my right side as he carefully flipped me over and slid his arms underneath. Picking me up without effort, he got to his feet and even in the pitch blackness, I knew with a dreadful sink in my belly he was bringing me to those vile chains. "No," I bemoaned and I could feel fresh tears emerging. "No, please." I flung my arms around his neck and pressed my face into his sinewy throat. I felt his powerful body bowing forward slightly to put me down, but I clung frantically to him, like a cat to water, and when he dropped my legs to set me on my feet, I managed to hoist them upwards and wrap them desperately around his slender waist. I had just gotten out of the chains and I wasn't ready for them again. Not only were my wrists still chafed and raw, but I had gone to the edge of death in them. The idea of going back overwhelmed me with claustrophobic panic. I'm not sure Pratt knew what to think. One moment, his enormous hands were tugging on my hips, cajoling me to release his neck, but in the next he was squeezing me tight, one of those coveting, I'll-never-leave-you hugs. I sobbed harder, shaking like a leaf. Pratt stepped back, away from the wall, and I kissed the underside of his lean jaw, over and over in gratitude, taking cue from Amy on her last day, when she kissed Pratt's feet in persuasion to forgive her. Instead, Pratt carried me to the fire pit and his hard, beastly gait had a sturdy but odd rhythm. I allowed myself to be put down, my feet touching the gritty floor. I didn't know this area well and stayed glued to my spot, afraid to step on a sharp rock or trip over the pile of lumber. He patted my bare rump insistently, and it took a few seconds for me to realize he wanted me to sit. I did, cautiously feeling around below me until my fingers found the smooth, dry texture of the log bench and I lowered myself slowly, so as not to be poked by stray knots. He left me there, but I didn't fuss. As long as I wasn't tied up to the wall, I could keep calm. Soon, I heard the brisk snap of branches as he prepared a fire. Later, it would occur to me I should have tried to run, but I wouldn't have gotten far. Not only was I still weak with hunger and sleepy from dehydration, but Pratt's senses were better than mine. If he let me get as far as the cave tunnel, it would be for his own amusement, to watch me pathetically stumble around in the dark. Fire and candles had two uses in the cave: light and warmth and both were for our benefit, not Pratt's. My benefit, I corrected myself. There was no "our" or "us" anymore. Only me. * The heat of the fire made my knees itch. I had never been naked so close to a blaze before and while I longed for the confidence to bask in its warmth, I sat rather primly next to it, absently rubbing my singed knees, staring at the flames. Sitting down next to me, close so that the fur of his loincloth brushed my hip, Pratt handed me another cup of water. I looked down at my reflection in it and remembered all those cups of water he brought us that day before he took Amy out of the cave. Now I gathered he'd been overhydrating me, knowing full well he would not be in any mood to take care of me. Had Amy meant that much to him? Did he actually anticipate a depression so deep he wouldn't be able to maintain his other charge? He had been so angry at Amy, I remembered, and I glanced around the floor for her bird's foot ring. It had been his gift to her and in his fury he'd torn it from her finger and whipped it across the room. I nursed from the cup, drinking slowly as we watched the fire consume the timber. It was my intension to hold onto this rare occasion by the fire, but my thirst deceived me and before I knew it, I was peering down at my last sip. Afraid Pratt would bring me back to the chains if he knew I was done, I held the cup close to my chest, but a few minutes later, he took it from me anyway and placed it on the floor. Scooping me, he lifted my body and positioned me across his lap. As a rule, I typically didn't allow men to lift me. I suspected trust issues on my part, but I found it equally annoying how men wanted to prove their masculinity under the guise of romance, no matter how uncomfortable it made me. Not that I couldn't be lifted—although I couldn't always tell if the faint strain in their faces was because they were out of shape or because I fluctuated just outside my ideal weight on the BMI chart. But I felt quite secure when Pratt carried me and his face was always stress-free, even when I struggled in reservation. Once I knew he only meant to hold me, I settled into his lap like an oversized infant, my legs bent over his right knee while he cradled my neck in the crook of his left elbow. I gazed up at him. He was keenly watching the fire and I could only see the underside of his delicate chin as the muscles in his jaw flexed in deep thought. His thick, stringy mane of tawny hair draped the front of his shoulders and tiny russet nipples were obscured by coarse, dense chest hair. I had to search to find them. I resisted the urge to reach up and touch one, just to see it pucker up. There was less fur on his abdomen, revealing the vague outline of firm oblique muscles, followed by the vertical strip of dark, bristly curls under his belly button. That, along with a flagrantly swollen vein, disappeared under the belt of his loincloth. My eyes traveled back up to his face, which was now turned down at me. His expression softened when our gazes locked and then drifted across my body, lingering on my breasts and I saw his head tilt almost lovingly at them. Squeezing the left one, I noticed how I filled more of his hand than Amy had, but he didn't seem to mind. His powerful, reedy fingers massaged me lightly, testing their weight, experimenting with their movement. I think that's when he noticed the long red scab across just under my clavicles, the span of it nearly went from one shoulder to the other, but it was deepest right under my throat. He touched it lightly with a thoughtful frown in his brow, running his fingers over it like it was brail. It was where Amy cut me with her ring. Not on purpose; her ring had snagged me just right. It was nearly healed now. Some of the scab on the sides had already peeled away, leaving new pink skin. Pratt traced it lightly for a moment. Then he sighed and I think it was partly in arousal, partly in nostalgia, and the shadows on his face danced around as he looked back to the fire. My insides sharply jerked, wondering if he was thinking of Amy. But I knew it wasn't jealousy I was feeling. It was fear of Pratt's resentment. Disenchanted, I turned my head and rested my cheek against his hard bicep. I thought of my father, when he was still alive, back when I was just a teenager. What I most remember about him was his incredibly scratchy face when I'd kiss his cheek, although sometime around 14, we weren't speaking very much. He was a difficult man with a lot of rules. Rules about what I wore, not just outside of the house, but in the house, too. Once, I'd been wearing an oversized sweatshirt turned inside out and it was the fashion at the time to wear it off the shoulder. My father took one look at the exposed shoulder strap of my bra and I thought he was going to jump out of his skin. Anyway, we had this dog. Dad named her Lady. Lady was a sweet black lab my dad picked up at the pound and liked to take hunting on my uncle's property in rural Duluth. I don't think the dog was very useful, but my dad liked to have her around and Lady liked the exercise. One day, I got off the school bus and found my dad openly crying in the garage. Back facing me, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, shuddering uncontrollably and weeping loudly. I had never even seen my dad misty-eyed before and I found the whole thing bewildering. My dad saw me, my shadow I think, and he leaped to his feet so fast, the chair tipped back. He wiped his cheek with the heel of his hand, muttering something about sawdust in his eye as he strode out. Later, Mom told me Lady had bitten the twelve year old boy down the road, in the face. I guess it was no surprise. We didn't know much about the dog's history except she'd been spayed and had her shots. My father had to take Lady into the woods and shoot her himself. I wondered if that was how Pratt felt about Amy. How he had to put her down for nipping strangers. And I was the stranger. But Pratt wasn't trying to evade some lawsuit like my father was when he put Lady down. Amy pushed me. That was all. Yes, she probably would have done it again, like Lady probably would have bitten some other jerk kid, but Amy and I weren't animals. Although sometimes it was difficult to make that distinction, especially while Pratt was distractedly stroking my left breast like he was petting the ears of a golden retriever. There was intelligence behind Pratt's eyes, that I could tell, so if he loved Amy, why not get rid of me instead? I must have dozed off for a few minutes. I woke up when Pratt switched breasts. Inhaling deeply, I arched my back to stretch, glancing down at myself. Both my nipples were fully distended, but it was the glimmer of wetness between my thighs that caught my attention. Pratt noticed it, too. He laid his free hand on my leg, his fingers pressing into the seam of my thighs, forcing them open. He stroked his thumb through the smear, testing it, and then stirred one black talon around my wiry black hair. Dropping my arm to the side, I reached around my back, touching the strips of soft mink hanging down between his legs, searching for what I knew was behind them. I wanted to touch him, too, and twisted my shoulder a little further to reach. But Pratt stopped me. His hand was as big as a catcher's mitt around my upper arm and gentler than I expected. At least he didn't growl at me. Only he was allowed to touch me intimately and I should have known better. Thinking back, I don't even think Amy was allowed to handle his manhood unless he offered it to her. "Sorry," I muttered, peering down at my hands as I folded them together. I don't know if he understood me. Then it dawned on me he was thinking of Amy again. Still mourning her. Heat flooded to my face as I blushed. I felt the edge of one hook shaped claw as he lifted my chin. He was already looking down at me and he showed me one finger. I could tell he wanted to tell me something and his eyes unfocused for a moment, considering how to do it. Carefully, he slid his arm out from under my head so that he could gesture with both hands. I raptly watched as he put his hand out, palm up and then used his other hand to scoop something invisible from it and bring it to his mouth. First, eat. I smiled shyly and nodded. * I was in chains again. Amy's chains. And it was harder than I thought it would be. Pratt had already gone. I managed to hold it together while he shrugged on his shoulder furs and got ready to collect our dinner, but the moment he disappeared into the tunnel I could feel myself unraveling. Over everything. Being in Amy's chains, the threat of abandonment, how hungry I was—it was all rolled up in a hot ball and sticking to the back my throat. Not even sitting in the good bed was much consolation. My old chains hung quietly in my range of view, reminding me there was no one I could look to for company and as I lowered myself down to the smooth rabbit pelts, I tried not to remember all the nights I watched Amy lounging indulgently across them. How could I possibly enjoy the good bed when Amy's status was unknown? Lifting my arms, I wrapped my fingers around the rusty chains to keep the pressure off the battered parts of my wrists. Closing my eyes, I laid my head back on the wall and took deep breaths, meditating helpful affirmations. Pratt had to go, I reminded myself. If we were going to eat, I knew that he had to, but I was having an irrational reaction to his leaving, an awful notion he might not come back. It wasn't that unreasonable of a thought, it's just I never had to think it before. It never terrified me like it did now. Before, I had Amy to take hints from. Now I just had myself—and horrible, frantic thoughts of dying alone in shackles. The Cave Ch. 02 Author's Note: First off, I am sorry for taking so long to write this story. Secondly, I want to thank those who are supporting me and all of those patient enough to wait for this story to come out. Lastly, I will be writing 5 more stories to The Cave. Thank you for the support and enjoy the story. I slowly opened my eyes, seeing the sunrise out in the distance over the snowy mountains. My senses were coming back to me as I began to feel the furry blanket rub against my skin. The fresh scent of pine trees was carried into the room by a blizzard that was brewing. The cold air flowed into the room like a steady rush of water. The howling of the wind grew louder, but then it was silenced, and the cave began to heat up again. I looked over to see that the entrance had been sealed off by a large metal door. I didn't worry about it too much, in fact, I was kind of hoping for something like this, but I didn't know why. Probably because if someone found this, it would take a lot of explaining. I let my hands explore the bed, letting my fingers run through the soft fur. My left hand moved up onto a furry bump and began to rub it gently. I looked over to my left to see Snowi on her stomach, smiling with her eyes closed. I scooted over next to her, letting one hand rub her bubbly ass. She slowly opened her eyes and gazed into mine. She gave out a light sigh as I continued to massage her ass. She positioned herself onto her side, and pulled me into a long, deep kiss. Her tongue played with mine, as we probed each other's mouths. I continued to rub her ass as she moaned into my mouth, pressing her tits to my chest. After a minute or so, our lips parted. She looked at me with a serious attitude. "John" she said with a sexy tone. "Yes?" I responded. "Will you be my slave?" She said as her soft emerald eyes stared at mine. "Yes" I answered. She smiled, and continued to kiss me. After about five minutes of kissing and spooning, she pushed my head down into her breasts. I rested my head in her massive tits. They were so soft and cozy with her layer of fur. She flipped over onto her back and held a juicy melon for me to suck on. I gladly accepted it, and wrapped my mouth around her fat, pink nipple. I held her huge, natural boob up to my face as I began to lick and tease her nipple. I squeezed her other tit, and instantly breast milk squirted out. I took her entire nipple into my mouth, drinking her milk. She moaned loudly as I squeezed her other breast. She wrapped her arms around me as she moaned, pressing my head into her melons. My face was covered in her milk as she let her hold on me loosen. Again, she pushed my head farther down, I smiled. She crossed her legs around my head and squeezed my head with her thighs. I teased her pussy lips with my tongue as she moaned loudly, arching her back while I darted my tongue in and out of her wet and tight vagina. I stuck my tongue deep into her pussy, swirling it around. She nearly screamed as I fucked her pussy with my tongue. Her grip around my head tightened, forcing my face to press into her crotch. I kissed her lips, then she loosened her hold on me, allowing me to roll over on my back with a mix of her breast milk and pussy juice on my face. She laid there panting like a tired dog, looking at me intently. "I'll be right back, stay put," She said as she ran into one of the doors on the sides of the cave. I watched her large bubbly ass bounce as she jogged away from me. It was probably the largest I've ever seen. After a few moments later, I heard the door open. I was lying down on my back in the center of the bed, eyes closed, waiting for what ever Snowi had in store for me. She walked over to me, not saying anything, and took my right arm first and handcuffed my wrist to the legs of the bed. Then my left wrist was locked in, then my legs. I opened my eyes to see Snowi above me, staring at my cock with hungry eyes. She positioned herself over me, with her ass pointed at my face. She lowered her pussy onto my dick, slowly beginning to bounce on my manhood. Her hypnotizing ass smacked onto my crotch each time she went up and down. I tried to thrust my dick as far as I could into her as she came down, making her moan loudly. She leaned forward, only moving her ass as it bounced. She looked back at me, smiling at me as I continued to thrust into her. She must have sensed that my throbbing cock was about to burst, so she slowed down. Instead of getting off of my dick, she kept her ass on it. "Let me keep that warm for you" she said with a purr. Her pussy was tight, wet, and especially warm. She rotated her hip slightly, causing her to groan, then positioned herself so she was facing me, still on my cock. My dick exploded as her pussy erupted with her juice. She arched her back, groaning loudly as my penis kept spewing with cum into her. When I was done, she collapsed onto me, breathing heavily, licking her juices that were still on my face. After a minute or so after catching our breath, she pushed herself up so that she was hovering over me. Her breasts nearly grazed my chest, even though she was in a full plank. "Would you like to meet one of the others?" She asked. "Who is it? Is it Leni?" I asked excitedly. "Nope" "Sandra?" "Wrong again" "Amanda?" "No" "Then who is it?" She looked at me with a smile, "It's a surprise". I smiled too. She rolled off the bed and motioned me to follow her. I climbed off the bed, letting my bare feet touch the cold black rock. She walked over to a door that was different from the others. It was made of glass which led into a small chamber, no larger than an industrial elevator, that had another door made of metal. "I'll see you later," Snowi said as she disappeared into one of the doors. I opened the glass door and stepped into the chamber. I walked over to the other door and grabbed the handle and tried to open it, but it was locked. I walked back to the glass door, and tried pushing the door open, but that was locked too. I examined the room some more, finding small hose like nozzles that came out of the wall. After a few short seconds, I figured out what those were used for. Like a firehose, jets of purple gas were sprayed at me in all directions. I started banging on the glass, trying to get out of the room. the room started spinning, I began to loose balance, and fell to the ground with a thud. I crawled with all of my strength to get to the glass door, but I never made it, and I passed out. I slowly woke up, not in the chamber, but on some sort of beach. Was it all a dream? I looked around, surveying my surroundings. The whole beach was a tiny cove, with basaltic rock formations that made a "U" that surrounded the surf. I looked behind me, which nearly gave me a heart attack, but at the same time gave me some relief. It was a wall made of black rock, the same rock in the cave, that stretched so high up it broke through clouds. At the bottom of the wall, was a metal door. I looked back out into the ocean, reminding me of my time that I worked in Hawaii, and went to Kua Bay on my days off. This beach looked almost identical. I slowly got up, and walked over to the water. It was warm and clear as it washed up onto my feet. I waded out into the water, and began to swim out into the cove, letting my naked skin bathe in the salt water. I began to tread water, looking out into the ocean. Then, I saw a black shape come up and out of the water, coming closer to me. I began to swim back to shore, fearing that it might harm me. Once I reached the shore, I walked up to the sides of the cove, exploring the rock formations and small caverns that were usually a little larger than a minivan. I liked to spend time exploring marine life and geological formations a few years before I found the Cave. In fact, I was a marine biologist while I lived in Hawaii. Unfortunately, that was short-lived, because of a job opportunity in the Rockies that payed much more than what I was doing in Hawaii. After I moved, some of my co-workers decided to do a hiking trip around the mountains. After being separated from the group, I was caught in a blizzard and found by Snowi. After walking around the basaltic caves, I headed back to the sand. When I reached the beach, I saw a black, shiny figure lying face down on a blue towel on the sand. I began to walk towards it, and it soon began to take shape. I was about 30 feet away, and I realized what it was. It was the surprise, a shark. She had jet-black skin with a white belly and crotch. She was tall and thin, but her ass and breast were a work of art. Her face was more of a shark than a human, and her tail was thick, and began from her lower back, and extended to her feet. She opened her narrow, yellow eyes and looked up at me, smiling. "You must be John," She said I nodded with a small smile. "I'm Ashley, I've heard many good things about you," She said with a grin while stretching her aqua blue bikini bottoms. She was absolutely stunning. "One question, how did you make this?" "Well, I didn't make it, Snowi did. Don't you know that Snowi is a goddess?" "No, I didn't know that," I responded. I was a bit shocked to find out that she was a goddess. "Can you rub this lotion on me?" She asked, holding up a bottle with no logo or name on it. "Sure," I said with a smile. She lied down on her stomach, with her head resting on her arms. I squirted some of the cream colored lotion on to my hand, and began to massage her back. The lotion made her skin shiny and smooth. I moved up to her neck and shoulders, then back down to her fin and lower back, then on her ass. She sighed as I rubbed her bubbly ass with the lotion. I rubbed her tail, which made her moan and I stroked it. I moved down to her thighs, then finally to her calves. After giving a nice foot rub, she flipped over. I squirted more lotion into my hand and rubbed her chest, and the top of her breasts. Her aqua bikini top looked like it would burst. I moved down to her white belly, and down to her thighs again. I set down the bottle next to her, and she opened her golden eyes. She stood up, grabbed me by the side, and pulled me into a deep kiss. She was much taller than me, so I had to look up at her as she looked down at me. Her mouth tasted salty as her lips pressed against mine. We broke away from the kiss, and she turned away from me and went on her hands and knees and lifted her tail up, revealing her asshole and tight pussy. Her heavy breasts dangled, nearly touching the ground. She looked back at me and winked. I slid my cock into her asshole, going farther and father as she moaned loudly. Her tail limply rested on my shoulder as I increased my speed. I shoved my entire dick into her as my crotch pressed against her ass. She screamed in delight as I began to thrust faster. Her breasts swayed back and forth as I continued to pump into her tiny asshole. After a few short moments I was pounding her with my throbbing member. Her tail began to shake on my shoulder as I began to focus more on speed rather than depth. After a full minute, I slowed down enough to switch to her soaking wet pussy. Then, I continued pumping my dick into her tight vagina. She groaned loudly as I pumped into her. It took me only a few seconds after I began going full speed to make her squirt. I exploded as she screamed, her tail thrashing around, nearly hitting me across the head. I slowed down, and pulled my soaking wet cock out of her. She collapsed on the sand, spreading her arms and legs. She rolled over onto her back, as I slowly laid down on top of her, resting my head on her breasts. She wrapped her arms around me, looking out into the ocean. I was very tired, as we laid there motionless. Her rubbery skin felt nice as I starred into the setting sun (Yes, there is a sun inside the "room"). I could feel Ashley's arms go limp, telling me that she fell asleep. A couple seconds later, the world was black, and I drifted off into a deep sleep. The Cave Ch. 02 For distraction, I got back to my feet to inspect my chains, crossing the streams to face the wall. They were exactly like my old ones, maybe slightly newer, attached to the wall someplace high up in the shadows. I noticed steel poles embedded in the rock several feet over my head, identical to the ones I'd spotted above my old chains. They weren't attached to anything. I still didn't know what they were for but I felt uneasy looking at them, an augury to my future, and I felt a sharp chill down my spine. I tested each chain with a quick yank, but they both felt solid. In my old chains, I was convinced one of them felt loose, but I never had enough time to work it free. It didn't seem Amy was too worried about escape, so I could see why these felt more secure. But I understood my escape would not involve shedding my handcuffs like Houdini, unless I somehow got hold of the only key, which Pratt kept in only two places: his waist band or the dirty ceramic bowl on the shelf across the room. Getting it was close to impossible. Escape would have to happen while I was already free. Then it became a question of how much courage I could muster to overcome the risk. I was still keeping optimistic for a rescue. I'd been here over a week, still not enough time for anyone to worry, although if my editor called she'd be quite irritated I hadn't gotten back to her yet. Nevertheless, I couldn't think of any reason she'd need to speak to me so urgently, unless the due date of my latest project was moved up. Unlikely, though. While it paid the bills, I doubt anyone was waiting with abated breath for the next installment of my research on small-town Minnesota life. My mom had a copy of each one on her coffee table so she had an excuse to brag about me to the neighbors when they came over to play cards, but not even she actually read any of that shit. I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up some time later, my only sense of time was how far the fire had burned down. It was a heap of glowing orange coals with an occasional tongue of flame shooting up to taste the air. Pratt had been gone at least an hour, maybe more. How long did he usually take to catch supper? I couldn't for the life of me remember. My thoughts turned morose as I imagined him bleeding to death, shot by an out-of-season hunter, or a poacher out for a thrill kill, or captured by an old bear trap or... or... Materializing from the shadows in the tunnel, Pratt entered the cave unceremoniously, a lifeless rabbit swinging in each fist. He threw them down next to the fire in two lumps of fur and blood and proceeded to build the fire back up. My eyes swamped with tears, my relief overwhelming and abrupt, but Pratt took no notice of my moment of fret. He could hardly be bothered now, too focused on preparing our meal to even acknowledge my presence. I should've been used to this by now, but I found myself wishing he would merely look my way, the way he used to steal glances at Amy. Maybe it only appeared that way from my chains across the room. Maybe he only did it when she wasn't looking. Maybe the reason was simpler than that: maybe he didn't favor to look at me the way he did Amy. Christ, I was needy. Or maybe just irrational with hunger. * Pratt prepared the rabbits for the spit and while he spun them over the fire, their faint sizzle was music to my stomach's ears. Salivating while he ate his portion, I realized allowing me to sit with him by the fire had been a special favor, given the circumstances. He saved little chunks for me and I was grateful he didn't take too long before bringing them. I scrambled to my feet and he put the plate in my outstretched hands. Inhaling my dinner, I wasn't sure how much of it I tasted. I did note there were at least twice as much as usual and very few pieces with fat. Another perk of getting the good bed, I concluded. While I ate, Pratt stopped by the dark nook at the back of the cave and I heard the ceramic clink of the key as he deposited it to the bowl where he usually kept it. Then, he left the cavern to dispose of the skins and guts. He returned well after I'd finished, carrying his shoulder furs in his arms, looking quite refreshed. His normally wild hair was limp and damp from a bathing. I hardly noticed his leave, relishing my full belly. From the wooden bucket by the passageway, he brought me a cup of water and let me keep it to drink at my leisure while he returned to the fire pit. Using a stray bone to pick his teeth, Pratt was leaned forward on his knee, staring distractedly at the fire as he sometimes did after dinner. My eyes were still puffy and stiff from crying, but I was feeling strangely at peace, and not only because my stomach was quietly digesting a satisfying meal of protein and fat. The routine was back on track. We were down one, but now that we were settling back to what I knew best, I could handle it. My role was changed, but I had watched Pratt with Amy enough, I think I knew what to do. The second rabbit was still on the spit, but pulled away from the fire just enough to still keep it warm. When Pratt was ready, he tossed the bone in the fire and refilled my plate, tearing pieces of meat from the prime areas. My mouth began to automatically water with the idea of seconds. I was sure Pratt wanted to replenish the calories we had lost these last couple days. But when the plate was heaping, he only set it aside on the floor to be dealt with later. Fetching the key again, Pratt approached me with purpose and I suspected it was time for a break. He unlocked my cuffs and we proceeded down the tunnel to the next cavern where the bucket and newly scooped hole were waiting for me to do my business. I knew what to do. This was all typical and it ratcheted my confidence up a few ticks. However, no food and no water made for unpredictable bowels and all I was able to produce was a few ounces of urine and nothing else. It wasn't enough to warrant a special scouring on his lap. Back in the main cave, I climbed up to what was now my bed and stood in the center of it. Usually, this time of night, Pratt would lay Amy down for a grooming and then fuck her silly before bed. But I had already been cleaned and I wasn't sure how late it was, although I could probably sleep a solid eight hours more as long as it was in this bed of straw and fur. At some point, I anticipated we would continue where we had left off earlier by the fire. So far, Pratt had attended to all my needs today, except one. Pratt stopped by the fire to pick up the plate of shredded rabbit meat and brought it with him to the bed. I could eat again, I realized. In fact, my fullness had subsided and I wanted to. I faced him, waiting for the plate. Instead, he pointed down to the bed. I got down and sat with my legs crossed like a pretzel in front of me. On my way, I noticed the flesh of his erection peeking through the flaps of his loincloth, but I lost sight of it as he also sat down, mirroring me, close. My knees touched the bone of his oddly shaped shins and he still towered over me by a foot. Placing the plate of meat on the bed next to him, he selected a fat, juicy piece and held it out for me between two black talons. Staring at it, I hesitated, suspicious. I sensed a trick, but reached for it anyway. Pratt pulled it away. I frowned up at him. There was a glint in his eye as he narrowed them, shaking his head in mild scolding. Trying again, he held the scrap up to me. I sighed through a suppressed grin, knowing where this was heading. I leaned forward and reached for the meat with my lips. Pratt let me have it and immediately caressed my hair. Chewing, I rolled my eyes, accepting my praise with modest reluctance. Yes, I understood I was his pet. Did we really have to do this charade? I suppose I should have been more grateful. This was the only real attention he had given me all night. He baited me with a second piece, holding it higher this time, just out of my reach. Glancing up at it in disinterest, I shot him a sly look and uncoiled my legs, folding them underneath me so I could kneel up. Pratt was shaking the meat now, urging me to move faster and I puckered my lips to take the rabbit meat. I chewed and swallowed, but already Pratt had a third bit, holding it even higher. I started to erect myself fully on my knees, but Pratt patted the inside of one thigh. I stopped, perplexed. I could tell this amused him the way he bared his teeth and when I glanced down, his penis had risen free from his loincloth, bending ever so slightly to his right. Persistently patting my leg, Pratt reminded me to pay attention and shook my treat in front of my eyes. Christ, Lady could do this better than I could. I moved the leg Pratt was touching and the meat was instantly pressed against my lips for consumption. This time, my heavy left breast was stroked in eager approval. My knees were set wide apart now as I stood on them, and the warm air touched my genitals just before Pratt did. I gasped, struggling to hold my position as he pinched my nether lips together. When he removed his hand, he looked down at the wetness on his fingers as he rubbed them together, testing my substance. Apparently my potty training in the next cavern had turned me into Pavlov's dog. I anticipated an anal scrubbing every time we went in there. Now I suspected I was being introduced to a new kind of training. Picking up another piece, Pratt dangled it above me and I had to stand as high as I could on my spread knees to reach it. When I did, he pushed his thumb into my mouth along with the meat. His claw hit my teeth like glass and I could taste the salt of my arousal on his fingers. For some reason, his thumb in my mouth made me giggle and I pulled away, sitting back on my heels. I nearly lost my bit of meat and caught it with my hand, pushing it back between my lips. Pratt was staring at me, expression unreadable, and I lowered my gaze in reverence, alleviating the heaviness of his look. I guess I didn't know if laughing was permissible. There had been none when Amy was here. Suddenly, Pratt snorted. I glanced up at his softened face, nearly missing an instant of delight sparking his eyes as he grabbed another tidbit of meat. He showed it to me and I followed it with my mouth, but he wasn't ready to give it to me yet. Slowly, deliberately, he set it between his own sharp teeth. I gave another sigh through my nose, familiar with this trick too. I was always a little put-off when owners did this with their dogs. But when he reached for both my hands and guided them to my own breasts, I sensed it might be a little different. Spread out on my knees, cupping my own hefty breasts, I struggled with balance as I eased up to the slice of meat between his teeth. He was deliberately bobbing it in and out of my reach and I groaned in frustration. Giving up, I sat back, glaring up at his beaming face. Finally, he took pity on me and jutted his chin downwards to offer it, but when I snatched it with my mouth, he didn't let go, engaging me in a tug of war of the mouths. While this was all very aggravating, if my nipples had anything to say about it, it was also greatly arousing. I was breathing quickly, raggedly around the morsel in my teeth and I could feel his breath, too, whistling between his pointed teeth. He let me have it after a while and I chewed it rapidly in triumph... ...and I noticed he was slowly stroking his cock in his hand. Shocked, I nearly choked on my food. I couldn't look away and I hardly registered him tempting me with another slab of meat. I tore my gaze away and focused on my treat, stretched for it, gulped it down and I was praised with a prompt tickle of my clitoris. I moaned and shuddered so hard I had to let go of one breast and reach for Pratt's shoulder to regain composure. But his arm had already risen to taunt me. I lunged for the meat and was awarded with another quick stroke between my legs and I realized he couldn't feed me treats fast enough. I also noticed there weren't very many pieces left. Forgetting all sense of dignity, I snatched every cut of meat he suspended for me for a few moments of pleasure as he swirled the pad of his index finger against my pubic lips. I didn't know if I was allowed to massage my own nipples, but he never stopped me, and I found it difficult to manage my groans over rapid chewing and breathless swallows. Each interval stoked my orgasm, only to have it fade back when he reached for another nublet. Lifting up, I snatched it and it was all he could do to keep his fingers from getting bit. He slid his finger into the crease of my sex and rubbed me in approval, but then it was over and I stretched up for another tasty morsel. But there was none. I blinked at Pratt. Releasing his shaft, he showed me both empty hands. On the bed beside him, the chipped metal plate was empty but for a light sheen of rabbit grease. I sat back on my heels, breathing fast, still clutching onto my chest and waiting for what was next. Pratt's shoulders rose slightly as he quickly exhaled through his nose and I thought it sounded like a sigh of disappointment. I started to think maybe I was supposed to climax during that feeding frenzy, but it was all so fast, so erratic, it was impossible for me. His knees rose and it looked like he was getting up. I scooted back a little to give his erection room, but he was just getting to his knees, mirroring my position so that my eyes were level with his nipples. He took my left hand in his right and flattened it against his chest, letting my fingers tangle with the hair growing there. The side of my palm grazed against one of his swollen nipples. I had hardly noticed he'd taken my other hand, too, until I realized he meant to put it under his loincloth. Twice I had been curbed from touching him there, so naturally I resisted. But he held on, forcing my fingers around the hairy root of his organ, and when he began moving my hand up and down, I furiously blushed, shy of his body. With his other hand, he pinched my chin, lifting it so that my head went back far enough to see his face. He pointed two sharp hooks at his eyes so that I would hold his gaze, which had become very intense. His insistence made my heart go faster. Eye contact had been discouraged before. Even Amy had looked slightly askance when they made love. Dropping his arms to his sides, Pratt left me in charge of him. His organ was thick and veiny and had grown hard enough for his supple, slippery head to break free from his sheath of foreskin. He was velvet in my hand and with just enough discharge to make squirting sounds as I tentatively goaded him. Feeling it now, I could hardly imagine it was inside me once. Deep in his throat, he gave a little growl, not in warning, but in dark yearning, and encouraged me with little licks on my cheek. His rough breathing was interrupted by occasional swallows. I felt the heat from his palm as he clutched my breast. I scooted closer, higher, with the intension of putting him in my mouth, but then I saw his chest rising over me, predatorily slow. I drew back, not quite cowering, but feeling very docile sinking into the fur blankets, held down only by his darkened, gimlet eyes. Pratt grabbed my hip and yanked, tossing me all the way around on my face. Before I could even collect my wits, his arm curled around my belly and tugged up on me, elevating my hips. I scrambled to my hands and knees. One of his great, platter hands flattened down on the bed next to my tiny, saucer hand. The knuckles of his lean, black-tipped fingers were large and knobby with 3 or 4 coarse hairs growing out of each one. His other hand was micromanaging my body. Parting my knees slightly, placing my palms further out, bending my elbows, touching the wet tip of his penis to the mouth of my nether region; it all happened in the span of ten seconds. The fur on his chest tickled my back as he dropped his other arm down on the bed and I felt very secure there under him, like he was a rain shelter. He hopped forward a little, standing on his hocks, and his mighty knees appeared on either side of me, flexing and bending, enveloping me in warm, sweaty thighs. Thrusting hard, he impaled me from behind. I thought I had been ready for it but a moan plunged from my lips and my whole body lurched to his pace. He pumped fast but shallow, taking consideration of my fragile womb, jostling me like I was kneeling on the spin cycle. My mouth hung open, ready to make another unbecoming sound of lust but it was all happening so quick, I couldn't find the right moment to make my distress known. Pratt's breath roughened into snarls as he neared his climax and at the brink of it, he seized my shoulder and pushed down with all his weight until my elbows buckled. My cheek smashed into the furs, vision halved. His body went rigid, his claws tightened on my shoulder like spikes in my flesh. He grunted as he found his peak. I was shaking from the adrenaline of his attack, frightened, but exhilarated to be handled so brutally. My own silent explosion came as a surprise to me, groaning through the corner of my mouth, struggling to wriggle under his great weight as he lazily pumped me for a few final shudders. After, my one eye rolled to see what was happening. He eclipsed the light as he moved, and his cock left me with a jolt. I felt the heavy winds of his breath behind me. He loosened his grip on my shoulder as his tongue ran up and down the sweaty parts of my back. Then I felt him sniffling where his claws had been, followed by three soft licks, like little apologies, and I distantly wondered if I was bleeding. Pratt urged me to roll over and I splayed across the bed, gasping for breath. I felt his face nuzzling between my thighs and his prickly tongue as he gently washed away the juices. Later, while we were joined together as spoons do, I drifted off to sleep, and it became evident to me why Pratt preferred sex before bed. He wanted me sated and heavy-eyed to quash any intensions of escape. * During the night, I dreamed. In time, the dream would become a recurring one, even after I left the cave to reenter my old life. But for now it was just a dream and I was back in Dad's garage, the day of Lady's attack on the 12 year old hooligan down the road. Dad was still crying, having not realized I was there yet, which in actuality had only been a handful of seconds but in dreamland a few seconds was like minutes. Whatever it was that alerted him of my presence—the scuff of my shoe or the ring of my book bag zippers—happened and my dad stood up fast to leave. "Sawdust in my eye," he muttered on his way by. I nodded, realizing for the first time I was in my adult body, but I was still wearing my 14 year old clothes: oversized jeans cinched at the waist and my black U2 T-shirt, Actung Baby. Caution baby, I would learn eventually, since I was a good couple years from my high school German classes. But I was an adult in this dream and knew the translation. I went inside the house through the service door, down the hall to the kitchen. By now, I think it slipped my mind what Mom had really been doing. It was too early for supper and she wasn't really the type of mom to make me afterschool snacks, so I wasn't sure what she was doing. However, for the sake of my dream, I found her arranging the hardcopies of my nonfictions that I had yet to write. Noticing this, I walked into the kitchen slowly, carefully. Caution baby. "What's wrong with Dad?" I asked her. "It's Lady," she sighed. "She bit you in the face today. Your father had to shoot her." I didn't bother to question her, just turned down the hall for my room. Obviously she'd misspoken. I wasn't skipping school like the thug-kid down the road. I wasn't the one who had gotten bit. The Cave Ch. 02 The dream was more or less over. I could tell by the shimmery fade of my surroundings, how the hallway to my bedroom was starting to look like the hallway of my present day apartment building in Duluth, but in real life dreams didn't end at the most poignant moment, not for me at least. It seemed perfectly natural for my adolescent life and my adult life to be blending, for the door to my apartment to be halfway open like my bedroom door would be. I pushed it open, throwing my school bag down by the little apartment table where I kept my car keys and dropped my mail. I glanced at myself in the mirror above the table. What I saw made me jerk awake. * It took me seconds to realize where I was. My stirring had awakened Pratt just enough to refold his arms around me and give me a couple sleepy licks on the back of my head. Caution baby. Laying my head down on his torso, my body still frantically pumping adrenaline to my extremities, I was haunted by my bloody reflection still lingering on the back of my eyeballs. In my dream, the left side of my face was droopy and shredded, more like a shark attack than a nip from the family dog. I felt my face crumple and I started to quietly weep. I wasn't sure if it was the shock of the dream or the fact I was dreaming about real life, when I had spent the better part of the last 12 days thinking this was the dream. Not a bad dream, mind you. One of those dreams you wake up from and smile drowsily, guiltily, as you remember all the kinky parts you'll never tell anyone about. Freeing a hand, I clasped my palm over my eyes and cried a little harder when I realized Dad hadn't been trying to avoid a lawsuit when he shot Lady in the head with his hunting rifle. Sure the kid had probably taunted Lady, pulled her tail or tugged her collar, reminding our adopted dog about some part of her past that we would never know. I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that didn't think that 12 year old snot didn't deserve it and maybe Dad thought it, too. However, when Dad took out his hunting rifle with the intension he had with it, he wasn't thinking of the kid a quarter mile down the dirt road. He was thinking of me. Of course, I would never push Lady to the edge like the neighbor boy, but sometimes you just never know with animals. Breathing deep, calm breaths, I understood whatever Pratt had done with Amy he'd done it for me. By now, I had convinced myself Pratt had simply taken Amy out into the middle of the woods and let her go. Maybe he'd even pointed her in the direction of the nearest road. Something in her past had made her unpredictable to Pratt and maybe it was something simple as having an old boyfriend who cheated on her. It made me uncomfortable to think Pratt had given up on Amy so easily because of her baggage. She was still a human being. But, considering Pratt and his mystery species, his regard for humans might have been comparable to what we thought of dogs. Maybe he thought of her as a wild animal he couldn't domesticate. If that was so, what exactly did he think of me? That I learned the next afternoon, when Pratt taught me another game. * Pratt woke me early for sex. It was quick and fierce, just to satisfy that first morning erection, and afterward disappeared under the fur covers to clean me up. I was still a little sore from last night but I savored the ache. After, it was back to the wall while he assembled breakfast. The harvest was small, I noticed, the raspberries tiny and sour. Literally slim pickings, I guessed. I wondered what he would feed me once winter came around and raspberries were no longer in season. At the time, I actually expected to be there that long. The morning went quickly and was generally uneventful as Pratt kept busy with some chore in the dim alcove at the back of the cavern. A few times he approached the fire and tossed unneeded items into it, stoically folding his arms as he watched them burn. His last time at the fire, he glanced up at me as if just realizing I was there and hastily retreated to the water bucket to fill me a cup. I stayed sitting as he came over. He crouched down to tip the cool cup against my lips to let me take long sips. In between drinks, while I swallowed and caught my breath, he touched my breasts nonchalantly, almost indifferently, paying special attention to the delicate pink skin around each nipple. When I was done with the water, he passed the cup to the other hand and scooped his hand between my thighs to feel how much wetness was gathered there. I hadn't been sitting with my legs spread, but I no longer sat with them pressed tightly together anymore and I parted them a little more to give him room. Between the streamers of fur of his loincloth, the crumpled skin of his manhood began to show itself. Pratt's hand left my private area to raise my chin. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, embarrassed to have been caught staring at him there. I didn't understand his new preoccupation with eye contact and I felt compelled to turn my eyes away, to shy away from the intimacy of his gaze, which was now shifting gradually into a stony glower. I think my heart skipped a beat and I felt my stomach begin to wring. Now what had I done wrong? Pratt leaped to his feet. I suppressed an exhale of relief I was no longer under his microscope of scrutiny, but a thread of tension still remained as he stalked off the bed and dropped the cup back into the water bucket. Then he vanished through the dark mouth of the tunnel. Waiting uneasily for his return, I pulled nervously against the cuffs of my chains. He came back several minutes later. He was carrying my dinner plate in one large hand like a maître d and he headed straight for the stone sills to retrieve the key to my manacles. He moved with purpose, as if he had a serious goal in mind and stopped by the edge of the bed to set down the plate of left over rabbit bits. Dropping my chin, I examined my naked body. Had I lost weight? I think spending my days and nights strapped to the wall counted as a sedentary lifestyle, but without my usual diet of spicy Chinese and fried eggrolls Combo #5, I suppose I had shed a few as a result. And those three or four days of fasting probably didn't help my figure, either. In any case, setting me free in the middle of the day was highly irregular. He pointed to a spot on the bed, near the wall a few feet away from the chains. Kneading my chaffed wrists, I shuffled the short distance on my knees. Backing up, he stood at the edge of the bed and sat on his haunches, his dark scrotum sagging between his feet. I kneeled up with knees set wide the way he had showed me last night and watched as he picked up a piece of juicy meat and tossed it once in his palm, as if testing it. He made a couple underhanded practice swings, more for my benefit so I knew what he planned to do. He lobbed it up into the air, lightly with a high arch so that I could see where it was going to land. I think I was meant to catch it with my mouth, but I wasn't fast enough and it hit my shoulder with a greasy splat. It was cold, I realized. He had been storing it someplace cool. I picked it up and started to put it in my mouth. Pratt stopped me with a sharp growl, his eyes frowning in reprimand. He held out his massive hand, curled his fingers twice to wave me over. I knew to crawl over on all fours, but it was more like crawling on all threes while I held my slice of meat. Apparently, this was also wrong. Pratt was rumbling his displeasure instantly and jumped to meet me in the middle of the bed for correction, swiftly giving my rump a stinging swat. The robust clap of his hand on my flesh sounded very loud in the special acoustics of the room. I blinked at him in startle. Ripping the food from my fingers, he used his free hand to firmly cup my chin and lift it, roughly, simultaneously pursing my lips open so that he could insert the morsel, purposely slow, gentle. He did not let it go until I realized I should carry the food to him in my lips without consuming it. I should have known he would want me to do the simplest act in the most degrading way possible. Bounding back to the edge of the furs, Pratt patted the bed to get me to come to him and I scrambled over on my hands and knees, holding part of my dinner gently between my lips, and dropped it into his outstretched hand. Instantly, he was patting my hair to praise me, nodding emphatically, allowing me to eat that piece and I did, chewing and swallowing quickly. He cupped my chin again and elevated it to a proud height, and then rubbed my right nipple in approval. I felt the warmth of my wetness as it bathed my inner thighs. Despite the strangeness of being so ardently rewarded for such demeaning chores, my heart lightly flittered at his acknowledgement. Pointing across the bed, Pratt motioned for me to go back. I did and he tossed another piece. I had to move fast and wasn't able to hold my spread knees position, but Pratt didn't mind. The objective was to catch the food in my mouth by any means, and I skittered sideways to line myself up with the arch of his throw, feeling the heavy swing of my breasts as they joggled with my movements. Unfortunately, my second attempt was also a failure. This time, I knew to pick it up carefully in my mouth and bring it back. I wondered what he would do if I simply gulped it down on my way back. But I didn't dare. I could handle physical punishment—an extra slap on my behind or some new challenge in our playtime—but the fear he might end the game and make me go hungry kept me on the straight and narrow. Dropping the morsel into his outstretched hand, I parted my lips to take it back as he aimed it at my mouth. But when it was just close enough for me to lick, he withdrew and popped it into his own mouth. I gasped, but he only urged me to the other side of the bed. Chin jutted, I pouted on my way back. Now that I knew what was expected, it wasn't going to be so easy. Four more throws went by and I didn't catch any of them. I watched my plate shrinking before my eyes, disappearing down Pratt's own gullet, and after the fifth missed try, I felt my eyes warming over with tears. If I had thought the task was difficult before, it was downright impossible through the blurry screen in front of my eyes. I don't know why I was being so sensitive about it. I was still relatively full from breakfast so it wasn't about missing an opportunity for sustenance and I was sure he would still bring me dinner later when it was time. It was absolutely humiliating to blubber about something so trite but I couldn't help myself and as I felt the anger bubbling up in my chest, I found myself hating him for this. Although I could move faster with my feet on the bed and my knees bent in duck-walk, I was too self-conscious to expose my damp pubic hair and shiny thighs. Pratt seemed to know this and started throwing the bits of meat erratically instead of straight to me. Of course, I missed the next five tosses because I couldn't move fast enough. Eventually my competitiveness, normally dormant, had me bouncing around the bed to catch my snack, but I was blinded by my tears. I think must have looked like a lumbering gorilla the way I braced my hands on the bed and kicked sideways to move around, sitting in lewd squats so that I was ready for the next throw. By the time I was out of food, I was a complete wreck. I was breathing hard from exertion, sobbing pathetically between breaths, and my sex was drenched and itching. Pratt approached me and stroked my sweaty hair for my effort. But I recoiled from his touch, tense with a strange fury; the need to scratch was driving me mad. I reached between my legs with innocent intensions to use a fingernail on a particularly bothersome itch, but Pratt was too quick grabbing my hand. I whined in torment, my thighs pressed together tightly for some relief. He leaned toward me and gave my behind another stinging whack in reprimand, his jaw set in a firm line, but his eyes were glinting deviously. I set my knees wide apart again, hoping he would provide my release, but he only made me join my hands together at my back and make the palm-up sign for stay. He got up and left the bed. I squirmed fruitlessly in this position, watching as Pratt bent down to the water bucket and filled the cup. There were a few instances I thought I might be able to secretly rub my itchy places but I feared punishment if he caught me. The prospect of punishment actually seemed to make the itch worse. He forced fed me the water and I sputtered most of it down the front of me. The strenuous activity of the game and the hot torture between my legs left me utterly exhausted. When the cup was empty, he placed it right side up on top of the shiny, empty plate. He turned away suddenly to cough and I blinked away tears long enough to marvel how human his cough sounded. The agitation of his cough made his erection shudder and soften slightly. He even had the decency to cover his cough with his arm like Dracula and aim it into the inside of his elbow, but my captivation was short-lived as I sniffed back tears. I continued to glare at him without pity, privately hoping he choked on the food that had been meant for me. His eyes settled back on me and I felt his appraisal. When I couldn't stand the judgment anymore, I turned my face and scowled at nothing in particular. Soon, I saw him in my peripheral, scooting close. He put his hands on me and gently coaxed me back into bed, arranging me on my side. I felt the warmth of a fur blanket falling over me and the nudge of his body as he eased in behind me. There was still a coil of pressure inside me thrumming to be released, but I was too angry and fatigued to pay it any attention. He made me cross my arms over my breasts like I was being fitted for a coffin and then wrapped his own arms around me to hold them there snugly. I was positive this was to keep me from touching myself. I laid there for a long time, listening to the rhythm of his chest as it filled and emptied. Middle of the day naps were atypical. I'd never seen him lie with Amy for a nap. On the other hand, Amy had never acted like she needed one before. Eventually the resentment drained away and I was just left with sleepiness dragging heavy on my eyelids. * I managed to doze a little after that and it was almost entirely dark when I woke up. Sitting up, I could feel the clammy heat of Pratt's rear pressed against my side, the tickle of his coarse hair on my leg. There were a few bright red coals still in the fire and Pratt's shape next to me was obscured by the mountain of furs covering him. Time was always a mystery but I felt well rested and as I stretched, my bloated bladder sent me urgent messages. Seriously doubting I was allowed to go by myself, I turned on my hip and started to wake my captor. But then I stopped. What was I doing? Normally, he was such a light sleeper, any slightest move on my part and his limbs twisted around me like a magic vine. I squinted in the minimal light for the inky outline of the tunnel. Could I get there without him noticing? I knew enough to go left at the fork. How much farther could the exit be from there? My muscles were paralyzed, waiting for just another ounce of courage to be set free. I gave Pratt a tentative look. Was he breathing? I leaned forward to see. I didn't think he was. His name was on the tip of my tongue. I glanced up at the exit again and made my decision. "Pratt?" I whispered. I touched the soft pelt of his shoulder. He didn't move. "Pratt?" Sitting up higher on my knees so I could see his face, I moved the curtain of his hair from his cheek. He looked like he was sleeping. But his chest was still. I laid the back of my fingers on his temple. He was warm. I shifted my hand to his nostrils and waited. Nothing. "Pratt," I snapped. I tugged his arm and he was easy to flip over on his back. His arm flopped lifelessly across the bed and my skin crawled with horror. I patted his chest. "Pratt, wake up." He was difficult to shake, but I managed a few good shoves and when that didn't work, I began lightly slapping his cheeks, his mouth slacking open. I couldn't believe this was happening and I felt like I was moving in slow motion. A peculiar numbness began rolling through my body as I thought of how bitterly I wanted him to choke on the morsels of rabbit he had taken from me. And somewhere in the middle of it all, tears pricked my eyes and my already faint vision blurred me to legally blind status. One moment, I was desperately rousing my unresponsive abductor, the next I was frightened by a great bellow and slammed down on my back. Before I could gather my wits, large clawed fingers tickled my ribs and I couldn't tell if I was crying or laughing. I wriggled wildly through his attack. He didn't torment me for long before allowing me to catch my breath. While my laughter had been forced, I had to admit it felt good. The anger that followed was mostly feigned. "Mean!" I shouted at him, smacking his chest. "Mean, mean, mean!" Pratt responded with throaty grunts, an exceptionally evil laugh. My rage for him had dissolved, not just for his nasty trick, but for earlier. I had taken my failure of his game quite personally. It was after all just a game and I had no reason to fear any punishments that might result from it. I think for me it was just the idea of punishment I was most afraid of. While he sat above me on my belly—with what I was sure was a fraction of his full weight—I could feel an unexpected burden in the moment as he stared down at me. The side of his knuckle stroked upwards across my cheek, collecting some of the tears I had shed. His eyes flicked down to the wetness on his finger and then back to me. Laughing anxiously, I dashed away my tears as if they were nothing, but I could tell he had already made the connection of what these tears meant. I was having trouble deciphering his reaction until he snorted dismissively, wiping his finger with his thumb, destroying the evidence. I don't think either of us wanted to examine how drastically I had responded to his playing dead. Shifting slightly, Pratt released his erection. I felt the heat of it nestled between my breasts and the strain of the situation lifted at the prospect of sex. The next time he played that trick on me, I made a mental note to check his loincloth first. Chances are it wouldn't be rigor mortis. And he wasn't the only one who could play dead, I realized, already plotting my revenge. Reaching for him with my lips, I fixed a hasty peck on the slippery tip of his penis and then glanced up to check his reaction. His chin was touching his chest as he looked at me and I think for the first time since he dragged himself out of mourning depression, his eyes were actually sparkling. I had nothing to fear. My hands explored his length and girth, rubbing his turgid organ against my cleavage. He lifted the head of it to my lips and I drew on it, swallowing the saltiness weeping from the tiny hole there. Pratt began to thrust, his prickly scrotum dragging heavily across my belly. I felt his weight change and his hand brushed behind him against my inner thighs. I let them fall open naturally in expectation. One sharp claw rooted around my sex, searching for the entrance, and when he found it, carefully prodded inside, stirring up fresh juices as I stroked him with my lips. It aroused me, the danger of talons inside me, the thought he could rip me to shreds if provoked. I growled my elation. He growled back and it was much more convincing than mine. The Cave Ch. 03 It was the screaming that woke me and my eyes bolted open to perfect blackness. Another scream, the tail end of it garbling with sobs, and I remembered where I was. Exhaling, I shook off my alarm. It was nothing. The new girl was awake now, that's all. Reaching over my head, I grasped the chains I was tethered to and hauled myself up on stiff legs. My shackles clinked as I stretched my arms and my naked breasts bounded heavily as I jogged in place to circulate my blood. Across the dark room, slow clicks, claws on stone floor. Pratt circling the new girl, I was sure. I heard his rapid sniffs as he took in her scent and it hurt my heart. It wasn't so long ago I was tied to her chains, in a state of mindless terror as some creature snuffled noisily near my ear. I had been wondering what was so special about me for him to bring me here, but now I knew there was nothing special about me. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, driving home after my spicy Chinese Combo #5, when something ran in front of my headlights. I wondered where Pratt had plucked this new girl from. Was it the same road I had been on? Probably on a brisk run, considering the toned rear and thighs I had gotten a glimpse of when Pratt first presented her to me. Christ, I hated her. I hated them both. * "Is there...s-someone else here?" Her voice rang out louder than I think she intended, bouncing around the darkness from the cave's high ceilings. Pratt had gone to clean up. I debated whether to say anything, but I couldn't disappear into the darkness forever. "Yeah," I sighed. "There is. Hi. I'm Layla." She sniffed and I heard her chains rattling. "Are you, um, tied up, too?" I nearly laughed. "Right now I am." "My head hurts." "You'll feel better once you drink some water." "Where are we?" "I don't know. I woke up here like you." She whimpered something unintelligible. Then, "He threw something down next to me. It's wet. And it stinks." Our dinner, I realized, probably a large jack rabbit. I knew now it was supposed to represent a gift, a peace offering, but I don't think she was going to understand even if I told her. Instead I offered some advice. "If you stand up, you can rest your arms. It's okay to stand." "Are there spiders?" "Spiders?" I muttered. "Or snakes?" she cried. I began to draw in my legs, feeling squeamish. "I—no. No, I don't think so." "But it's a cave. There're always snakes in a cave!" "I've never seen—" "Oh my god what was that?" She was really freaking me out. "What was what?" "Something just crawled over my leg!" I heard her chains vigorously jangling as she writhed from imaginary things. "Ok, calm down," I said. "Tell me your name." She was sobbing out loud again, in monotone, like a far-off tornado siren. "It...it's...Riley..." "Okay—Riley? I've been here a while and I've never once seen a spider or a snake. Trust me, this place is critter free. Now just take a breath." I heard her take a great inhale and let it out. And then another. "Are you from around here?" I asked, trying to keep her mind off what she couldn't see. "Huh? Oh, um, no. I'm from Canby." "Canby. That's near the South Dakota border." "You've been there?" "Once. Research." She swallowed noisily, fighting to breathe evenly through her nose. "For what?" "My last book. Small-town life in Minnesota." "You're a writer." I felt the tension melting and I was able to take a breath myself. "I am. Unless my publisher dropped me because I haven't answered the phone in three weeks. What are you doing so far north?" "I came up for the weekend." "The weekend..." I mumbled, nostalgically. Out in the real world, it was the weekend. "The trees are turning and I wanted to take pictures of them." "So you're a photographer?" "In my free time." "Free time from what?" "I'm a Biology major at the U." I hesitated. She was going to miss her classes come Monday. But then, I suppose it didn't matter how many classes she missed if she never went back. Up until yesterday, I thought it would always just be Pratt and me, but now I realized he was just updating his inventory. First in, first out. The woman here before me, Amy, she didn't last long after I arrived. And if I didn't escape soon, I was going to find out exactly what happened to her. "You sound...busy," I finally commented. But the conversation had already dwindled and I sensed Riley retreating back into fright. "Layla?" she whispered. "Yeah?" "He took my clothes." She was speaking hushed now, but it was easy to hear her in the distinct acoustics of the cave. "I know." I couldn't help to smile. "Mine too." "What—what's he going to do to me?" she asked and her voice was on the edge of a wail as her hysteria began to resurface. I sat up straighter, although she couldn't see it. It helped me to sound stern. "Nothing," I said. "Listen to me, Riley. Are you listening?" "Ye—ah." Her octaves were going up the more we talked. "He won't do anything to you. Not until—" I swallowed and I could feel the painful pinch in my broken heart again. "Not until you want him to." "Wha..." she drifted. "Why would I want him to do anything to me?" "He can smell your fear." Recalling my first week, my fright for him had simply evaporated, with no warning, and he knew it. "As long as you're still afraid, he won't touch you." "Does he have a name?" "It's Pratt." But even as I said it, it occurred to me he had never actually told me that, it was the name Amy gave me. And I seriously doubted she got that from Pratt himself. If he was one thing, it was not verbose. I wondered...was Pratt even his real name? Did he actually have a name? Or was Pratt just something one of his many love slaves had picked for him, passing down from woman to woman? The idea was a kick in the stomach. "What is he?" she asked, on the edge of a sob. "I—I don't know that, either." Nature's missing link was my best guess. "Just don't upset yourself when you see him, okay?" "Is he hideous?" she squeaked. Envisaging him, all I could see was his golden eyes glinting at me. "No," I said. "He's beautiful." * We didn't talk more than that. I heard Pratt's foot ticks coming down the stone hall and Riley's whimpers got louder as he began ripping branches apart for the fire. Within minutes, he had a tiny blaze going to nudge back the shadows. He stood to supervise its progress and the small bubble of firelight illuminated his hairy feet, the odd digitigrade shape of his shins, and his gnarled Schwarzenegger knees. I felt my heart quicken with anticipation of his upcoming loincloth, where I might see indications of his passion, but then I heard the siren of Riley's sobs gaining authority. I remembered my first day in the cave, how terrified I was of what I didn't know. What a pity this was her first impression of him, the strange horse-like quality of his lower half, instead of his flirty blonde eyes, evoking playful deviousness or sleepy lust. Or desperate apology, as was the case yesterday when he lowered a lifeless strawberry blonde onto our bed. Turning on the ball of his foot, he started to climb the rock platform towards Riley to retrieve our dinner. From the shroud of darkness around her came a squealing scream that shaved my eardrums and scrunched my toes. Startled, Pratt stopped in his tracks. But I could see why she was afraid. Pratt's impressive silhouette against the firelight was daunting at first sight. A layer of soft, brown hair covered most of his body and a loincloth of mink strips concealed the rest. "Go on!" she sobbed. "Go on, leave me alone!" Oh shit. I'd forgotten to tell her the two simple rules Amy had relayed to me. No eye contact. And no talking. It had been so long since those rules applied to me. Crouching down on all fours like a tailless jungle cat, Pratt lunged into Riley's shadows and released a deafening, fearsome growl, one I had heard only once that wasn't in the throes of passion. It had been directed at Amy after she attacked me. I squinted to see his faint outline standing aggressively on hands and feet over Riley's shrinking form. I think I stopped breathing. I think everyone did. The only sound was the occasional pop of fire. Slowly, Pratt retreated from her, back into the light. I could see the russet hackles on his back were puffed up. I couldn't believe it. I didn't even know he had hackles. He grabbed the lifeless rabbit next to her by one of its limbs and stomped back to the fire. Shuddering, Pratt settled the hairs on his back and sat down on the smooth, gray log bench to make short work of the rabbit. He didn't use a knife. It was one of the most incredible things to watch as he broke a few strategic joints and tore the skin off in one efficient pull. In minutes the rabbit carcass was turning over the flames. Pratt worked his way around the room, lighting the candles in all the little natural-made wall niches. I kept a sharp eye on Riley as he did this, watching her as she absorbed her surroundings. The rusty cuffs on her slender forearms, the texture and sediment design on the cave walls, how the light danced on the spikes of stalactites on the ceiling. I noticed with some interest the thin layer of new yellow straw that had been laid down for her. I knew from experience it offered little comfort. Pratt must have replenished it at some point before Riley's arrival, while I was sleeping. Sadness gored my heart as I realized how far in advance he had been preparing for her. Glancing up at my wrist secured in its iron manacle, I noted the primitive filigree of my rabbit-tooth bracelet as it dangled delicately. Pratt's gift: given mere hours before presenting Riley to me. Was that part of the ritual, too? Did Pratt give Amy her bird's foot ring right before towing me nude and unconscious into the cavern? And like a fool, I told him I loved him. Whether he could understand me or not was irrelevant. I knew what I meant and I felt sheepish every time I thought back on it. Yet I couldn't take it back. Not entirely. Lingering around the bed, Pratt took an especially long time lighting the candles around me, his large feet padding dutifully around the pelagial bedding. I knew he wanted me to look up at him, but I refused. I wanted to stay angry with him, to remind me I didn't want to be a part of this anymore. I had actually seen myself acquiescing to him and his lifestyle—if it was just the two of us. Any more was over my limit. Eventually he made his way to Riley's part of the cave. With every wooden wick he lit, the smaller Riley became, drawing in her legs, hunching her shoulders so that there was very little of her showing. Even her silky tresses of strawberry blonde draped the front of her chest in two straight swags to help hide her breasts. Her eyes caught mine and I tried to reassure her with a kindhearted smile, but I think she was too shell-shocked to respond. Instead, her intensely harrowed gaze traveled up and down Pratt as he passed by her. I hoped he didn't notice or he might punish her again for eye contact. I felt responsible for their altercation. It was supposed to be my job to guide her. Even Amy found it in her cold heart to give me pointers on my first day. I'd like to think I would be more welcoming than she had been, but it was difficult. Someday Pratt will love Riley and he wouldn't need me anymore. First in, first out. When the rabbit was finished cooking, Pratt ate his portion first by the fire, and divided the rest up onto two metal plates. Stepping over the log bench, he brought me mine and I stood up to accept it, the way I had grown accustomed to doing. I took it with both hands and tugged, but he didn't let me have it right away. I stared down at my dinner, prime shreds of lean meat, although there was about half as much as there usually was. I had a guilty inkling, knowing all Riley was getting was mostly gristle and fat. Christ, there was such little amount of her body to begin with; she was going to waste away quickly. At least I had a little cushion. I pulled on my plate a second time and still Pratt didn't give it over. I didn't have to look up to feel the oppression of his scrutiny. He wanted acknowledgement. Finally, I gave it to him, peeking up, seeking out his eyes, molten caramel. His precious features were filled with melancholy but they brightened momentarily as we stared at each other. The profound connection of our familiarity was palpable. I had been avoiding him since yesterday. When he dropped a sleeping Riley off at our bed, I rejected my grooming and refused to share the bed with him and he had no choice but to leave me in my chains. It had been a whole day and half since we made love. I wondered if that was the longest he'd ever gone. I could definitely sense the sexual frustration radiating off him, a glimmer of hunger in his eyes as he dropped them briefly to my sex. My response was immediate and I felt a blast of heat gathering to my pubic lips, as if his look was a physical touch. Releasing the plate, Pratt permitted me to eat. He turned to bring Riley her meal. She began screaming the instant he faced her and didn't stop until he put her plate in the sill above her head and walked away. It was irritating to my nerves, but as I gourmandized on scraps of oily meat, I took some satisfaction in her shrieks. While I cried a lot, I don't believe I ever screamed when I first came to the cave. For me, the screaming came later... Pratt left the room soon after to dispose of the rabbit refuse. Maybe even to throw the still-warm fur up on a stretcher. Although I was pretty sure the skin had to be treated somehow, I didn't know anything about any of that. As soon as he was gone, Riley and I exchanged looks. "You have to eat," I urged, pointing up to the plate waiting for her. "He only gives us enough to survive." She glanced up over her shoulder at it. "Is it safe?" "As long as it goes down the right tube," I quipped. She was oblivious to my humor, too busy carefully climbing to her feet. Her legs were a little wobbly at first but she stretched her arm up to retrieve her meal. I caught a glimpse of the blonde fur at the top of her legs until she averted her body to quickly scarf the lesser cuts of meat. My eyes lingered on a few adorable strands of straw adhering to her slim buttocks. "Riley, you can't talk to him," I said, swallowing down my meal. "I don't even think he likes us to talk to each other." "I gathered that much," she said over her shoulder. "And just to be safe, don't look him in the eye. I think he's still a stickler for that, too." "Have you tried to escape?" she asked. I'm not even sure she heard my warning. I don't think she expected to play by the new rules for very long. "Not exactly." "What do you mean?" "I mean I ran away from him, but—" But it was only so he would chase me. "But it was a dead end." "I'm sure this place has a lot of those," she said distantly. I nodded and finished eating. By the time Pratt returned, we had both finished. Pratt brought me a cup of water. I made sure I was standing when he approached so that I could take the cup, instead of having him tip the cup to my lips as he sometimes liked to do, when I was more susceptible to his curious fingers petting the nest of dark hair between my legs or mischievously pinching my nipples. Tonight he kept a respectable distance. The water tasted of the minerals from whatever cool river or lake it came from. I took only as much as I needed, leaving more than half for Riley. She was going to need it to replace her fluids. As soon as Pratt turned to bring the rest to her, I snagged her frightened gaze. Drink, I mouthed emphatically to her, raising an imaginary cup to my lips. Her nod was tiny and dazed. She looked up at Pratt as he handed the cup to her and then remembered at the last second to lower her eyes. I could tell she didn't want to take it as her wide eyes stared at Pratt's large bony fingers curled delicately around the cup. Mustering her nerve, she grabbed the water and guzzled it down. Thrusting back the cup, she looked for me around Pratt and I grinned at her, offering a thumbs-up. Pratt dropped the cup back into the bucket. He swung by the dim nook in the back, where he stockpiled all his little baubles and trinkets (I sensed out of prudence, rather than cupidity), and I heard the ceramic slide of the cuffs key. Riley was watching his every move raptly and it appeared as if she had forgotten to breathe. I liked watching her watching him. It was like seeing Pratt through new eyes again. After he unlocked my cuffs, Pratt stuffed the key in the waistband of his loincloth and I plotted a path down towards the fire pit. To my right, Riley's chains got excited. Her face was on the edge of frantic as we were leaving the room. I discretely showed her my palm as a signal to calm down. It was time for a bathroom break, but she probably wouldn't find out about that until tomorrow morning. It was cooler in the tunnel. Pratt led me to the right at the fork, to the cavern at the dead end. The candle was playing in its usual recess in the wall and I spied my carefully excavated hole near the back. I would get there eventually, but I needed to use the bucket first, which was half buried in the dirt for easy squatting. Pratt didn't closely hover while I did my business, not like he used to. Sometimes he leaned against the wall or sat on the rock where he cleaned my backside when I was done, but where ever he waited, I think he had an obsession with watching. Tonight was no different. He sat leaned forward on the rock, his elbows on his knees and his eyes on me the whole time. It amplified the constant pulse in my nether lips. Finished, I stood up and faced him. His expression lightened as he straightened, reinforcing his lap so that I could lie across it for my backside scouring. I wanted to go to him. But I knew where it would lead if I did and my heart was still sore. I loved him and he brought another woman into the cave. It didn't help Riley was a total sweetheart, either because I didn't know who to properly direct my hatred to. I started to leave, but Pratt could move fast when he wanted to. He filled up the archway, blocking my way, and before I knew it, he was only obstructing half of it, lowering to his haunches, looking genuinely bewildered and forlorn. He reached out, but I only needed to take a tiny step back to avoid him. He reached further, swiftly this time, and hauled me closer. He caught my hand and flattened it against his chest, over his heart. I knew what he was saying, but I didn't want to hear it and wrenched my hand away and pushed him back. It was like shoving a refrigerator. I could feel the hot pressure of oncoming tears as they squeezed my eyeballs. I slapped my hand over my chest and clutched an invisible heart and mimed throwing it on the ground. Then I stomped on it for good measure. Pratt recoiled, mouth open. Acting it out felt almost as good as saying it. But now I just wanted to hide. Hard to do stark naked, so I crouched, wrapping my arms around my shins, and buried my face into my knees. The stomping made my foot hurt in addition to my heart and I wept so hard and cathartically I could feel my abdominals spasm and become tender. Why was this news to him? After all the women he must have brought to the cave, how could he be so oblivious to their feelings? I couldn't be the first one to tell—er, gesture—it to him. Unless... The Cave Ch. 03 ...I was... He stroked my arm with the back of his finger until I calmed down. What was going on between us was so much more complex than a few rudimentary hand signals could fix. Although there was one in particular I wanted greatly to give him. An awful crash from the other room forced our eyes to meet. "Riley," I gasped. Pratt jumped to his feet and shot down the hall. I trailed far behind, slowed by sharp little rocks in my bare feet, but I could hear a dreadful grating sound of metal on stone. Pratt was stopped at the end of the tunnel and when I joined him, my mouth popped open. I wasn't crazy after all. One of those damned chains was loose, twisting free around new yellow straw while Riley tugged on the still attached chain. Glancing over her shoulder at us, her adamancy increased. She went wild, wrenching and swinging from the remaining shackle, grunting angrily. Pratt grumbled low in his chest as he loped forward. It amazed me how fluidly he could go from two-legged to four. Riley was screeching at his approach, but Pratt merely picked up the end of the chain and gazed up at the ceiling with a rankled shake of his head. I didn't see what he did next, however. Because I was running. * Left at the fork. Straight at the T. After that, light got scarce in unfamiliar territory. My sprint dragged into a cautious jog, grazing my left hand on the wall to keep my perspective. The floor felt generally smooth from Pratt's everyday pace. I'm sure a dozen tiny rocks had completely embedded themselves in the soles of my feet, but I was too agitated to feel any of it. I felt the wall become convex as the tunnel curved to the left and I followed it, feeling an instant snap of cold as the air changed, became less dank. I was getting closer to the exit, but how many more twists and turns would there be in this grid of a cave system? And how soon before I was completely lost in them? The further I got, the more I thought I was fooling myself about Amy. She was dead. Pratt had no choice but to get rid of her—and I mean really get rid of her—to keep her from alerting the authorities. How many links were in Pratt's chain? If he had simply set those links free in the woods I had to believe at least one of them would send help. Christ, I would. I was in pitch black now, but I could hear the faint echo of Pratt's toe nails, coming fast, a galloping rhythm of constant clicking, like throwing two handfuls of golf tees against a parking garage wall. My belly rolled over. I hustled into a run, but the floor started to become uneven and my foot slipped sideways. It smarted and I began to limp but I pressed into the darkness. I heard his breath behind me, so ragged it was like little snarls though his teeth. I wasn't afraid of him or any punishment he might give me for my insolence, but there came a point I knew I wasn't going to make it out. Still, I shoved on. Just a little further, I told myself, to see if there was light ahead, to get a glimpse of the exit just so I could be confident it was there. So I knew where I could find it. Pratt snagged me out of nowhere, swooping me up over his shoulder. It was disturbing to be thrown around in the dark, tumbling in a current of black water. Two fleshy smacks on my behind resonated in the passageway, but I was so heated from my race I hardly felt them. The fur of his loincloth brushed my face. I was so winded I let my arms fall and swing with his gait. I could feel the fall chill of the outdoors and I was disappointed I didn't at least get a glimpse of the cave's mouth. I think I could even smell the pungency of decomposing leaves. The darkness faded as we made our way back to the cavern. I could hear Riley's sobs and her chain riotously jangling against the wall. I looked over at her just as she gave up from fatigue, flopping to the floor. She gave me an apologetic look, as if to say I tried. I felt a profound connection to her, my new partner in crime with whom to gang up on Pratt. On the other hand, Pratt didn't seem terribly angry with me. Not that it mattered. I was still cross with him, even if I was too weary to fight back. He set me down at my fetters and my legs gave out. I was panting. Pratt lifted my arm and clamped it into the manacle, but left my other arm free. I was too exhausted to wonder why. Whimpering, Riley kicked back with her heels toward the wall as Pratt approached her with the key. He unlocked her quickly and pointed to me. Riley's eyes locked on mine as she got to her feet, rubbing her wrists. Her face was flushed and puffy. Twice she tried to run. The first time, Pratt hooked her with an arm and set her back on course. The second time, he hauled her up off her kicking feet, propping her tiny rear on the bone of his hip. Internally, he sighed and I think I actually saw his eyes roll. He attached Riley to my second chain and retreated. Knees buckling, Riley hurled herself at me, concealing her face in my neck. Her nose was cold and her whole body quivered with dry heaves. "Hey, hey," I murmured, holding her with my liberated arm. She recoiled slightly, worriedly. Grey blue eyes and black eyelashes thick with tears implored me. She had a wide mouth with pretty lips and high cheek bones stained pink. In a crowd, I would overlook her perfect looks, but they were rescued by a slightly misshapen nose. It gave her face charm and strangely put me at ease. "W-what's he going to do to us?" Standing in Riley's untidy pile of yellow straw, Pratt had his fist propped on his hip as he studied the ceiling. A second later he gave the shackle twisted on the floor an exasperated punt. "Nothing," I sighed and pulled her to me, pressing my cheek into her hair to soothe her. I could still smell fragrant traces of her shampoo, honeyed apples. "Please trust me." Back to the alcove, Pratt was rummaging through his belongings. "I didn't mean to make him angry. I just didn't know what he was doing to you. I thought he was going to kill us one after the other." I was touched she had responded out of concern for me and I tightened my arm around her shoulders. "He's not angry. He's just...flustered. I've never seen him like this before." I had thought him unflappable until now and I grinned to myself. "You're so feisty." But the smile drained from my face and I felt that pin in my chest again as I realized Pratt was going to fall in love with her. He was going to fall in love with the way she challenged him. "I hope I didn't get you in trouble." "Nobody's in trouble," I said and for the moment I actually believed it. But I was in trouble, I just didn't know it yet, and Pratt was already thinking up my punishment. "Did you get far?" she asked between sharp sniffling breaths. "Farther than I've been. But I didn't find the exit. Makes me wonder how deep this cave goes." This made her sob harder. Pratt came back with what looked like a mini sledge hammer. Focused on his maintenance, he ignored us, draping the chain over one shoulder and hoisting up. He was a natural climber as he shimmied up the wall ledges, pulling up on the jut of rebar and disappearing behind the ceiling formations. I could tell he had done this before. I wondered if this wasn't the first time a chain had popped out of the wall. A minute later, the thunderous strike of iron on rock made small chunks of debris trickle down the wall. Every resonant boom assaulted my brain and Riley's little jumps of alarm made me aware of our breasts, mashed together. Her pale flesh seemed as delicate as pear skin. I stretched sideways to reach one of the fur blankets and covered us with it. The warmth was instantaneous and I hooded part of it over her head to help block the noise. "Come here," I said and shifted, back against the wall. I cradled her to me, the top of her head snuggling up under the angle of my jaw. On the adjacent wall, the culprit chain dropped heavily, jingling on its way down, madly swinging as it caromed off the walls. I heard three more ear-splitting bangs for good measure and then deafening silence. I could still sense Pratt tinkering around in the rafters. As the elder woman, I felt responsible for Riley. My maternal instincts had always held firmly dormant, even in the presence of newborn babies, but I could feel them seeping out now, rocking this grown woman swaddled in animal furs. My fingers distractedly stroked the smooth skin at the curve of her shoulder. I could feel her get heavier as she relaxed against me, the weight of her cozy and comfortable as she sunk into my lap. It was all very consoling. "Did he do this to you?" Riley asked. I realized her cool fingers were softly touching the space between my clavicles. I lowered my chin to see the pink scar, where Amy had cut me by accident, with her ring. "No. He didn't do that." Her cheek flattened against the top of my right breast as she stared at the healed scab, her fingers tracing it, casually, absently. She lowered her arm and her fingers inadvertently grazed down my breastbone. My nipples shrunk. A shower of pebbles suddenly rained down on us. Riley winced and I squinted up. Pratt had somehow traveled around the ledges in the ceiling and now he was right above us. The chains slackened and our overextended arms were abruptly released. We had only barely grasped this concept, staring at our hands like we'd never seen them before, when Pratt landed next to us in a crouch. Riley screamed and quailed. Pratt stood slowly like a villain, his eyes glittering down at us menacingly, but my gaze fell to his groin. He was stiff as a pole and leaking like a faucet. I circled my arms around Riley protectively, sheltering her from that sight so soon in her capture. Pratt grabbed for her cuffed hand and Riley resisted, sobbing a terrified shriek, tucking her arm between our breasts. "Stop it!" I hissed reproachfully at him. "You're scaring her." I'm sure it was my stern tone that made him take a step back. He stared at me, bemused, and folded his sturdy arms together. "I get you're mad," I muttered. "You don't have to be a brute about it." I think I saw a brief wave of compunction pass over his eyes before they flickered down to the trembling bulk of furs in my lap. One hand came out of the pretzel of his arms. He pointed one black talon down at Riley and then jutted it over his shoulder towards the chains on the other wall. Riley back. I started to nod my comprehension, but he was angling his finger to point again, this time straight down at his quivering erection. Then he directed his finger at me and stabbed the air as the final punctuation to his request, and lifted his lips deliberately into a small, cruel smile. I don't think there was an exact translation available, but I got his gist. After a day and a half of bursting at the seams, it wasn't his smoothest move, but I have to admit it was working on me. I sensed our ongoing fight would be put on the back burner for now. I raised my cuffed hand and held it out to him, palm up. Pratt understood and reached into the belt of his loincloth for the key and deposited it into my hand. I nestled my face into Riley's hair and spoke low and soothing. "He wants you to go back to your chains." She whined something in disapproval. It was muffled and unintelligible. "If you go on your own, he won't touch you. He'll only touch you a little to lock your handcuffs. I promise." She withdrew slightly and looked far into her peripheral, knowing he was standing right behind her. I was trying to find the best way to warn her about what was going to happen next. Her eyes were so wide and virtuous and while I was sure she had been deflowered already—by a high school sweetheart or another equally righteous virgin—I knew she was in no way ready for what she was about to witness. But I couldn't find the words. I locked onto her gaze as I twisted the key and unshelled the bracer from her wrist. "Can I take a blanket?" Flicking my eyes up at Pratt, he seemed surprisingly patient. I said, "I don't think he'll allow that." I helped her up, reverently turning my face from the blonde shrub of pubic hair as she stood in front of me. I was pleased to see she had not conformed to the current waxing fad most young women were into. Besides our heads, it seemed the last acceptable place to grow hair was between our legs, up until recently. Even men were feeling the scrutiny. "Man-scaping," I think it was called. Some form of media—magazines, TV, blogs—had coined the term, although I was pretty sure it wasn't catching as quickly as women's Brazilian crotches. I wondered why that was. Pratt held his hand out to collect the key and they returned to her chains. I was relieved he didn't touch her, except for a quick brush as he put her arms back in her manacles, just so that my promise to her stayed true. While he was busy with Riley, I examined the new length in the chains. I was able to stand three feet from the wall and I tested them with a quick tug just to make sure they were still secure. Pratt swung by the alcove and was carrying something on his way back. He tossed two small rabbit pelts and a ragged hank of twine onto the bed and waved me up so he could unlock me. The cuff clanked heavily on the bed. Dropping down to his knees in front of my feet, he bowed forward and nuzzled the blade of his nose into the crevice of my cleavage. He inhaled deeply, exhaled a moan. His hands traveled my body, dragging his talons down my back like dull fish hooks. It was all familiar, the softness of his fur, the feel of his hands, his spicy smell of pine and earth. I placed my hands on the back of his sweaty neck, touching his long, bedraggled hair. I don't think it had ever seen a comb and I picked at two dead leaves, but the small twigs looked too tangled to remove. He grabbed my hips, spun me around and sniffed the hollow of my back. I felt two light licks and then he was forcing me to sit between his knees. His excitement left drippy daubs of cold discharge on my skin and when he began snuffling a sensitive spot behind my left ear I could feel the shiver travel all the way up my scalp. I hummed in my throat and swallowed dryly. His large hand pushed so that I sat back against his erection and it settled in the furrow between my shoulder blades like a steel bar wrapped in velvet. I felt his ribs on the back of my head, leaning forward, pushing my head down so my chin rested on my chest. All I could see were my breasts and the fold in my stomach as I bent strangely, feeling the satiny rabbit fur as it wrapped around my ankles, followed by the rusty screech of opening manacles. I think I sensed what was happening before I could articulate it and I began to squirm in protest, but Pratt still managed to raise my left foot and clamp the cuff snugly around my ankle. He moved to my other foot and worked quickly, tucking the lining of fur inside the shackle. The next thing I knew, he was crawling up the wall in front of me. Propped up on my hands, I glanced over my shoulder at Riley. She was kneeled at the wall, her white fists holding the chains above her, but then she started to get to her feet. For now she was ignoring her modesty as she gawked in befuddled fear. My feet began to rise as Pratt reigned in the slack and suddenly my butt slid across the bed a few inches. "Pratt?" I called. I think I had a better idea now what was about to happen and I swallowed again, thickly, trepidation boiling in my belly. Above me, the chains began to glance off the walls as Pratt lassoed them around those rods of rebar I had spent the last few weeks ruminating on, and then there was a quick yank on my ankles and the back of my thighs hit the cool, rough wall. No, please, no... And then I was heaved up in one motion. Sliding up feet first, I swallowed a scream as the abrasive wall raked against my buttocks and shoulder blades. Because of the rebar, my legs were split open as I hung there and my inner thighs strained to close; not to shut my legs, but to experiment with the hold of my tethers. My hair brushed against my dangling arms, which didn't quite reach the floor. I felt the strain in my ankles, but it wasn't more than I could stand. The fur made a good cushion. I braced my elbows on the wall to settle my swaying body and relaxed the tendons in the back of my neck so I could see Riley across the room. She harshly inhaled. Her hands were clamped over her mouth, her shocked, glassy eyes bulging out of their sockets, but she was eclipsed from sight as Pratt plunged into view. His mink strips were swinging against the contracting muscles of his thighs as he stepped toward me. I didn't think it was coincidence his erection was level with my gaze and it hung shining and furious through the gap in his loincloth. "Leave her alone!" Riley's chains clanged animatedly on the grotto wall. I couldn't see her through the thick trunks of Pratt's legs, but I was affected by her attempt to defend me. I steeled my voice. "Turn around, Riley," I called to her. It was the only thing I could think of to say. I wasn't used to being watched and the thought of her seeing this was paralyzing. He moved closer and the fleece of his loincloth had a faintly musty smell snuggled against my face. Clutching the thick pillars of his legs, I pushed my face through the fur, breathing in the sweaty, humid air underneath, his smell irresistibly male, and desire unfurled deep in my belly. I felt the warm, wet pressure of his tongue there as he tasted me, just two tentative licks and then a deep sniff, tickling the damp hairs, treasuring my aroma. Pratt made a low throaty sound of yearning, scrabbling to grab hold of his organ. Withdrawing slightly, he aimed the head of his penis to my lips, inserting me like a nozzle to a tank. He was a wonderful combination of silky and rigid and he pumped my mouth with hard, shallow thrusts. I flattened my tongue on the top side of his shaft and stroked it with my lips to the best of my ability while inverted. My vision was completely obscured by his large scrotum swinging heavily at me through his loincloth and I could feel his face between my thighs, sniffing and tasting at his leisure. Digging my heels into the wall, I thrust out my hips, searching for some release to end the torture. I expected to be more distracted with Riley in the room, but I think in a way it was easier upside down, the mortification of my punishment seemed to strip me of emotional diversions. I was self-aware enough to know I didn't have the showmanship of Amy, who had given blow-jobs like there was a camera on her. Considering the amount of fluids dribbling into my eyes, the guttural, gagging sounds coming from my throat, and what felt like a constant expression of panic on my face, it was a relief to be half hidden in his loincloth. For several minutes, all that existed was his penis crammed between my teeth and the throbbing fire between my legs. Squeezing his rigid shaft with one fist, my other hand rooted around under his loincloth to massage his balls briefly, inching my fingers upwards through the coarse hair to breach his clenched anus. It was hot inside, clammy with sweat, and I slipped in a second finger, curling them around his clinching band of muscle. I don't think he was expecting this. He adjusted his stance unsteadily, choking a sudden groan. Growing rushed and reckless, he began driving his organ down into my throat and I heard my own vulgar gagging sounds. As my face drained fluids from every place possible, mouth, nose, eyes, I struggled to maintain composure, tamping down the rising anxiety, fighting to uphold a rhythm throughout his barbaric thrusts. The back of my jaws felt like jelly. 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. The Cave Ch. 04 It was the snuffling in my ear that stirred me. Several light sniffs, followed by one loud snort, and then the offending cold nose made its way to my neck and started the whole process over again. I made my displeasure known with a moody groan. "Pratt, no," I murmured. The nose retreated, followed by a high whine. "Too early," I reasoned. Another pitiful whine. Then a sharp bark. My eyes popped open. Then immediately shut from the brightness. The ground was hard, course and freezing, all rock. I lifted my cheek from it, brushing away the tiny pebbles embedded into the side of my face. Hearing a frantic rhythm of clicking, I coaxed my eyes to squint open on four golden paws dancing on a white painted line. Christ, I'm on the road. A second bark startled me and I blinked up into the overcast sky. The golden retriever wriggling in front of me gave an excited turn and licked my face. I flinched, disgusted. "Hey," I admonished. But the dog was already distracted by something down the road, ears pricking at a distant whistle, and I was suddenly aware of a terrible pain flaring in my foot. As the dog ran off, I propped myself on my elbow and looked down at myself. I was dressed in my wrinkled clothes and my sneakers were on, but they weren't tied. Carefully, I kicked off the right shoe and tugged off my sock. My big toe had swollen to twice its size and was red and it hurt like a— * "Mother-fucker!" I screamed. Flying upright, I rooted around for my foot under the fur blankets. I couldn't see a thing in the dark, but the intense pinch in my toe felt like someone had rammed a needle under my toe nail. There was slow stirring on either side of me but I was too agitated to feel guilty for waking them. "Layla? You okay?" "No," I snapped, touching my toe carefully. The pain spread like my foot was on fire, but my toe felt generally unmolested and in one piece. "I think something bit me." "Bit you?" Riley squeaked. "You told me there was nothing in the cave that could bite." I felt her warm, bare body pressing against my left side as she guardedly drew in her limbs. On my right, Pratt flicked back the heavy bedding and took my foot in his large hand. "You were hysterical. I would have said anything to calm you down." "Gee thanks," she muttered and I could feel her getting up on her knees. "Hey. Hey you. We need a fire. You know, fire? For light?" Riley had found her voice around Pratt; unfortunately "Hey You" was the only thing she cared to call him. "A please would be nice," I told her. "Why? It's not like he understands me anyway." "He understands your tone," I said and then hissed as Pratt's tongue came out to gently lick the affected toe. Riley found my hand. "Here. Squeeze as hard as it hurts." "Actually, it's not that bad anymore." I pumped her hand anyway. "It's like I stubbed it, it'll fade." "I wish I could see it." "Pratt can see it." "Oh, so when did Pratt become premed?" I grinned at her in the dark. "You're cute when you worry." * "So what do you do? Suck out the poison?" Riley looked up at me, smiling wryly. "I'm not certified in poison sucking." The fire was high and hot. Riley and I straddled the smooth, gray log bench, my foot propped between us so she could examine it. Pratt was near the tunnel, scooping a cup of water. The pain was a low pulse in the tip of my toe, but Riley was very careful not to handle it directly. Tucking her strawberry blonde hair behind both ears, Riley hunched forward for a better look, a serious crease between her grey blue eyes, but my gaze roamed downwards. She was beautiful: skin like a China doll, small, taut breasts, and the lean fold of flesh that appeared across her stomach when she was bent over. Further down, flaxen pubic hair tinged with blush. "Typically, spiders are blamed for all unknown bites, but without a sample anything could have bitten you. It's a little swollen and there's some bruising around it." She glanced up. "Are you listening?" My eyes snapped up to her face. "Yes," I said through a grin. Her eyes narrowed good-naturedly at me. "Are you allergic to anything?" "I don't think so." I felt Pratt settling down behind me and then a cup of water appeared in front of me. I started to reach for it, but Riley grabbed it instead. "Thanks," she said, pouring a splash over my toes. "Now if we only had some antibacterial soap and some ibuprofen, I'd feel a lot better. Ecstatic even, if I had a bandage to keep it clean." "It feels better than it did," I said and put both feet on the floor. "Must be your miraculous touch." "Must be." "But now I have to pee." "Can't help you with that." I turned to Pratt. His golden eyes were soft with worry. I pointed to the tunnel and pressed my thighs together tightly, anxiously, and the comprehension was near instant in his exquisitely intelligent face. He nodded and rose to his feet, reaching for Riley's hand. "Why can't we just all go together?" Riley wondered out loud. "I know I wouldn't mind and it would save time." I smirked. "I think his head would explode." "You're probably right." Pratt guided Riley up the rocks to a shadowy raised area where her chains hung empty. Despite his behemoth size, he was always gentle with us. I watched the easy way his large, hirsute feet mounted the rocks, the peculiar way his knees and hocks bent in unison as he climbed. The mink streamers of his loincloth shifted and swayed against his well-developed thighs and fine chestnut hair covered his body in humanly patterns. He used the key from the belt of his loincloth to lock Riley's wrists into her shackles. Riley was very casual as she let him do it, holding still, gripping the chains nonchalantly and the serene look on her face was almost angelic, even during the obligatory nipple twist with his long fingers and black talons. At first, I was insanely jealous when he began touching her during our nightly ablutions, but I think I enjoyed watching him manipulate her body. And the way she'd boldly meet my gaze as he was doing it, her lips whispering a smile without an ounce of arrogance or haughtiness, was quite arousing. She had changed immensely in her short time in the cave, considering in the beginning Pratt could hardly approach without her screaming bloody murder. Even now, Riley managed to keep a certain emotional distance from him. She didn't love Pratt the way I did and I think on some level she preferred to stay out of our way. Pratt and I had a bond, and Riley wanted nothing to do with it. With Riley secure, Pratt returned to me and I took his offered hand. He led me through the dark tunnel to another cavern with a dirt floor and a single flickering candle so that I could do my business. After, he led me back, but stopped me at the fork in the passageway, as he did every morning now after my evacuations, and stood against the wall with his arms staidly folded. The bones in his face were delicate, almost feminine, and despite his aloof posture, his eyes were intensely distressed as they flicked back and forth from me to the exit. I knew the way out of the cave now. I even knew where he kept the key to the locked door at the end of it. Since the night I found my way out and chose to stay, every morning he let me choose again and I could see how it stressed him, the possibility I might decide to leave him forever. But knowing I could leave made me want to stay and I wedged a hand under his elbow to tug him back towards the firelight with me. He bared his teeth, his signature smile, and followed me. We had to walk through the fire pit area to get back to my bed of straw and furs where my chains suspended, but my eyes snagged on something in the shadow of the log bench. Pratt watched me curiously as I leaned over to pick it up and held it up to the light. It was Amy's bird's foot ring. The delicate black claws were curled around an imaginary perch. I looked up at Pratt and showed it to him and he looked mildly surprised to see it. For a moment we gazed at each other, sharing a private memory. Pratt had been as angry as I'd ever seen him when he tore the ring from Amy's hand and threw it blindly over his shoulder. The next day Amy was gone. I still didn't know what had happened but I had a few theories. I handed over the ring so he could put it in his dark alcove of tchotchkes. Maybe someday he could make it into a necklace. But he held up both hands, shaking his head, and then pointed to me. You keep. "Really?" I said dubiously. He jabbed a black finger nail at me again, nodding certainly, his eyes bright. So I tried it on. Amy's fingers had been thin as jackstraws and the ring only fit on my pinky, but it went well with my rabbit tooth bracelet in a morbidly disturbing way. I offered Pratt a polite smile and he amiably swatted my behind to get me moving back to the bed. It occurred to me we hadn't made love yet this morning and the nagging itch between my legs wanted attention. I wasn't sure how I felt about wearing Amy's ring, but I wondered if Amy knew of the door at the cave's entrance. Did she know escape wasn't possible, even if she managed to slip out of Pratt's arm at night? All those times Pratt brought her back from her bathroom breaks...had he stopped to give her a choice, too? Maybe that was why she was gone; because she had finally decided to. But then I remembered Amy had been quite adamant about staying. She had locked herself in her own chains in order to remain. Later, after Pratt brought Riley out for a quick break and gave us both a drink of water, Riley pointed at the ring while my hands were splayed across Pratt's lower ribs for balance. "Pretty," she said, breathless and flushed. "Thanks," I rasped, plunging down on Pratt's rigid organ without missing a beat. "With all that jewelry, you'll be the envy of all the other cavewomen," she jested. "All I need now is a pair of bone hairpins." She bit her lip to stifle her smile, closing her eyes blissfully. She moved like a cork in the sea, her fingers digging into Pratt's pectorals. I could see the underside of Pratt's jaw, the sinews of his throat madly flexing as his tongue was buried in Riley's fair shrub of pubic curls. "Oh god I'm close," she groaned. "Kiss me." * Changes in the cave had evolved following Riley's menstruation cycle. Now Riley slept with us at night and naturally the early morning romps included her as well. Pratt was not so much of a stickler with the chains anymore and usually only put us in them when he went hunting or to keep our hands out of trouble. Pratt was gone longer in the evening to fetch food, but we spent the time well, cracking jokes or playing an X-rated version of 20 questions that usually had us crying with laughter. Over the last several days Pratt had become rather logy. He had lost interest in all his other projects, or maybe they were all finished. If he wasn't out hunting, he was usually yawning and stretching by the fire. Sometimes he curled up in bed with us and took long naps. Other days he was content to just dreamily watch us as Riley and I entertained each other. It made me wonder if Pratt had hibernation instincts. He was, after all, still a creature of habit. Our amusement came in a wide range of activities. I taught Riley some of the games Pratt favored when there was extra food, which wasn't often. And although I wasn't clear on Pratt's change of heart, talking was okay now—whispers when he was asleep. Riley liked to keep her fingers busy when she chatted and was always knuckle deep in my hair, twisting some new elaborate braid. Pratt recognized this the first time she did it and brought us several faded scraps of ribbon to preserve her braids. She began weaving the decorations in the braids as well, which I imagined looked pretty, but I could only feel the back of my lumpy head when she was done. It was the only time in the cave I wished for a mirror. I tried to return the favor, but I only knew how to do a basic braid and something that resembled a sloppy, uneven French braid. I improved marginally with practice. And when we were all talked out and our hair was perfectly braided and we'd already played a round or two of dirty 20 questions, we'd start a new activity. Quietly. So we didn't wake Pratt. There had been few conversations of leaving the cave. Sometimes I would think back to my first night in the cave, how I once assumed Amy and I might use the chains as some way to communicate and orchestrate an escape. Now, Riley and I enjoyed hours and hours of freedom, much of it alone, and if escape came up, it was almost rhetorical. Like when Riley declared there must be two exits to the cave. She was kneeled up behind me, undoing yesterday's braid, collecting a pile of old, hoary ribbons beside her. "I told you, there's only one," I said. "And it's locked up tight." "But the tunnel is so drafty. There's got to be a second way to the outside where the air is circulating from." So smart. The smoke was getting out somewhere; it was the only reason we weren't suffocating. I assumed there were narrow fissures in the ceilings acting as air vents, but was there another exit? One that wasn't locked? A second exit meant nothing to me—I knew where the key was—but was it giving Riley just enough hope to keep her going? And how often was she thinking on these matters of escape? I never told Riley Pratt was giving me a choice to stay. I was sure he wasn't extending this gratuity to her and certainly she would try to talk me into leaving. It was in these tortured moments of quiet deliberation I felt the most guilt. The day after I found Amy's ring, after Riley and I had eaten all our huckleberries and our hair was weaved with ribbons, we reached that restless stage of our company earlier than expected. Still slaked from the morning, we had little else to do but snuggle under the covers and doze together. When I woke, it was with a start and it roused Riley at the same time. "You okay?" she crooned blearily. "Yeah. Sorry. Go back to sleep." The fire was low and glowing. I could just make out her face of empathy as her cheek rested on a mound of furs. "Bad dream?" "Sort of." "Tell me." Hesitating, I pulled the blankets up to my chin. "It's just a dream I keep having of my dad." I wasn't going to say anything more, but Riley was nestling back into the furs, getting comfortable, waiting for me to finish. I internally sighed. "When I was 14, our dog Lady bit a little boy who lived down the road and my dad had to put her down. But in my dream, Lady bites me instead." Riley slowly grinned, sexy and devious. "I thought you were going to tell me it was a sex dream. I swear I have about three a night." Laughing, I said, "I've had my share. Once, I dreamed of being rescued by a group of well-hung men...and one woman." I could still remember the green-eyed man as the ring leader of my erotic capitulation. Riley dropped her jaw, mocking shock. "The woman was well hung?" I laughed again, but cut it short when Pratt moved beside me, sleepily exhaling. "So how many days has it been for you now?" she asked. "In the cave." "Thirty-eight," I sighed. "Wow. If you were on Survivor, you'd be a finalist." I grinned, but it only took a moment for it to go dry, that familiar guilt rising in me again. I was free to leave at any time; meanwhile, Riley's grades were dwindling with every absent mark she received. For the most part, I had gotten pretty good at pushing these thoughts out of my mind but sometimes I tried to bring it up, just to feel her perspective. I rolled over to face her, tucking my arm under my cheek. "Do you ever think about getting off the island?" Riley smirked, eyes bright, lively. "Not with that hidden immunity idol I know you have." "I thought you couldn't use those after day 35?" "Shouldn't matter, we're still in an alliance, aren't we?" Admittedly, these conversations were often one big prevarication. "I'm serious, Riley." "Oh, Layla. Stop worrying. For me, the cave isn't so dark anymore. And with you here, I can handle just about anything. Now," she said, her cool hands groped around to cage my breasts in her small palms. "I want these." I chuckled. "With your frame, you'll be hunched-back in a week." Giggling softly, she slipped one hand down to clap the side of my hip. "I wouldn't mind these, either, as long as you're doling out body parts." "You wouldn't want them. I have a strict return policy. Besides..." I softened my voice. "Your body's amazing." "Ha. I have the body of a twelve year old boy. Doesn't exactly ooze sexuality." "Who told you that?" I asked, gently affecting insult. She looked at me strangely, considering a moment before answering. "No one has to tell me. It's everywhere. Television, movies, magazines. It's in the looks people give, the comments they make." An image popped into my head of my dad behind the fortress of his Sunday paper, where he always felt more comfortable cracking jokes about thunder thighs and the weight capacity of brassieres. For a long time, that was my reality, the shadows on the wall of Plato's cave. "Not here," I said. "Where? You mean the cave?" Her eyes disengaged from mine and floated around the dim cavern curiously, as if making sure. When her gaze was fixed to me again, she had the reluctant, slightly crooked smile of someone who had just been proven wrong. "Point taken." I touched her hair, wrapping a thick strand of blushing blonde around my finger (Pratt's special tongue combings always left it gleaming) and leaned to kiss her. She kissed me back with specter lips, surreal, downy cherub feathers softly sweeping over my mouth, her tongue like a drop of rain. Everything was feeling with her. No stress, just snuggling, cuddling, fondling. Propping up on one elbow, Riley laid across me, our bellies sealing, and everything seemed to fade into the background. It wasn't until Pratt stretched out next to us that I became aware of anything else. "We have company," I whispered. She pushed away to kiss my breasts. "Ignore him." Pratt moved in to nuzzle my face and I closed my eyes, intoxicated by his woodsy scent. He withdrew and my throat made a drowsy little growl as Riley began to fiercely suckle at my left nipple. A moment later, I felt the rush of cool air on my lower half as Pratt lifted the blankets and then the brush of his warm, hairy body settling in between my thighs. The juices inside me leaked onto my inner thighs in a torrent, elevating my desire, and as I lifted my knees to prepare for his penetration, Riley threw her head back, suddenly gasping. Behind her, Pratt had his claws in her hips, dimpling the tender flesh there. I felt her naked body jostling on top of mine as he hopped up on his haunches to line his loins with hers. "Layla, he's—" She was interrupted, body jerking as he entered her, for the first time as far as I knew, and her face flinched once before her mouth dropped open and hung that way in a noiseless moan. Pratt was wildly thrusting. Riley submerged her face into my cleavage and groaned. My brain wanted to sulk, but my body betrayed me, passion coursing through my veins. Riley's knee was jammed between my legs and it was slick now against my damp sex. I lifted my hips, discovering pleasure in the friction of her skin, rubbing to their rhythm, to the wet beat of spanking flesh. Riley began to fight me, pressing upwards on my breasts. "Oh god, Layla," she husked. "Scoot back." I felt the sting of rejection as she shoved me, but I lifted up on my elbows anyway and struggled out from underneath her. This was inevitable, to be pushed out, discarded. Neither of them needed me anymore and my eyes heated up with the tears of my own obsolescence. The Cave Ch. 04 Riley's arms locked around my thighs. "Far enough, sweetie. I want to kiss you again." I moaned as her mouth pressed to my pubic lips, her little tongue darting out to stroke my special spot, which was already bloated, craving and thudding with heat. Beyond her, Pratt's blonde eyes fastened to mine, burning through the haze of desire, spearing me, tugging us closer. My cheeks were moist from tears but they meant something different now, something much more overwhelming, the romance of it swallowing me up. My simultaneous love for them was devastating and crushing and it knocked me over the edge of my climax. Howling my release, a cathartic deluge of emotion poured out of me and I was only distantly cognizant of Pratt and Riley as they bucked and grunted through their own pleasure. Time with my new lovers was now short, but I was unaware...my journey was nearly complete. * "Layla!" I lifted my head off the bed. "What?" We had no sooner finished and Riley was looking at me, insulted. Behind her, Pratt's face dipped out of view and I heard the vulgar slurp as he started to lick her post-coital juices. Riley was still on her knees as she shook him off. "Not now, fuzzy," she said. She dropped her face to examine my toe, horrified. It was red and tumid and I think there was milky leakage coming from the wound, but I jumped out of my skin the moment she touched it. "Layla, it's infected," she scolded. It had been dully throbbing all last night and today, but nothing I couldn't sleep through as long as no one was picking at it. "Hey. Hey you," Riley said. She scooted aside and pointed my foot out to Pratt. "She needs medical attention now. Do you understand?" He gave my foot a fleeting look, and then flicked his eyes between Riley and me rather nonchalantly, comprehending nothing. "Are you deaf? Her toe is infected. If we don't do something, she's going to get very sick." Pratt gazed blankly at her. "Dammit, Layla, he doesn't listen to me!" She folded her arms crossly. "He's just a big dumb dope!" Pratt growled at her tone and I found myself missing the days when Pratt didn't allow talking. I didn't like the way she talked about him and it seemed unfair he couldn't understand her insults. "Maybe we could boil water to clean it," I suggested. "It's not enough. Without bandages to keep it clean, it will just keep festering." I sighed. I didn't want to hear any of this. It was like that part of my brain had turned off and I was disinclined to give my foot any thought. "It'll go down on its own if I give it time." Pratt wasn't hearing it, either. He gave a sudden yawn and crawled over to me, circled his arm around my waist and pulled me back into bed. Riley was scowling, but it made her appear childish and it was difficult to take her seriously. I patted the space in front of me. The furs were still warm from our earlier slumber. "Come on. Let's talk about it after a nap." Riley dropped it grudgingly, crawled into bed with me and when I woke some time later, she was still snoozing under a stack of pelts. Pratt was kneeled at my side, holding a cup of water, gently provoking me by caressing my arm with the smooth side of one claw. Torpidly grinning, I sat up and took the refreshment. He leaned backwards to sit against the wall, holding an arm out as an invitation. Peering sideways at Riley, I carefully pushed aside my blankets and nestled in beside him. It seemed like such a long time since we had last been alone, bathroom breaks aside. Lately, all my energy had been directed at Riley and I felt a pang of remorse. Pratt didn't look neglected, but he seemed extraordinarily cheerful to have me near him. Sipping my water, I leaned against the side of his ribs. I noticed there was something in his hand. I pointed at it and looked up at him, evincing a curious frown as a silent question. Smiling a sneer, he lifted his hand and let it drop down. I inhaled sharply and tucked my cup between my knees so I could handle it. It was a necklace. Unfinished, as there was no clasp yet to close it, but a delicate wire held together a string of ivory white...vertebrae. I didn't know what animal they came from, rabbits if I had to guess. The larger, lumbar vertebrae were centered as the focus and smaller ones tapered upwards towards the neck. "It's lovely," I said and smiled pointedly up at him. I gestured enquiringly at Riley. He nodded and I smiled again. I patted my heart to let him know she would love it when it was finished. Shrugging humbly, he carefully folded the necklace and set it next to him. Swiftly, his hand came up to touch his breastbone and then pointed to me. When he met my eye to see my reaction, I hid my grin by bashfully nuzzling the side of his chest. The arm he had draped around my shoulders briefly embraced me and his hooks lightly raked my arm. Eventually, both our gazes settled on the tangled nest of strawberry blonde, sticking from of a pile of rabbit fur blankets. I know he loved me, but did he love Riley, too? Or Amy? I wanted to ask, but I was afraid his response might be too complex for gestures. I think he did love them in a way and I don't think I wanted to hear it. Would he want to know I loved both him and Riley? Actually, I think he already did know it and I lifted my head with an unexpected thought. He looked down at me with a questioning tilt. "You chose her for me, didn't you?" I whispered. Pratt blinked at me. I leaned back into him, pressing the side of my face into the hair of his chest. "You must be able to smell something in our chemistry. Our pheromones or something. Something that...matches. Or maybe even something that doesn't match. I haven't figured that out, yet. In either case, you knew we would be attracted to each other and that's why you picked her. You didn't choose her for yourself. You chose her for me." I raised my head and he grinned at me without understanding, his golden eyes glittering with oblivious happiness. I think he just liked listening to the sound of my voice, especially when I got dreamy and long-winded like this. It was easy to speak out loud a stream of consciousness knowing my opinions couldn't be judged. Thinking of something else, my eye sharpened on him. "Did you pick me for Amy, then?" His jovial expression didn't change. "Because I don't think Amy liked me very much. So...does that mean you picked me for you?" Crouching down a bit, he licked the side of my temple twice. I sighed. "I guess it's not a perfect science." I lifted the cup to my lips and finished off the water. Grimacing, I peered into the bottom. "This batch is a little bitter." Pratt divested me of the cup and nudged me with his elbow to get my focus. His arms shot out in front of him, palms facing out, and he waited with a mockingly arrogant raise of his nose. It took me a moment to know what he was doing, but when I realized it I began to mimic him. Before Riley arrived, I had showed Pratt a magic trick, but I never showed him how it was done. Since then I sometimes caught him reenacting the trick on his own, trying to figure it out. I imitated his movements until the moment of truth, the trick's pivotal point, and with practiced insouciance he reached over to adjust my arms, lowering them an inch. I grinned warily at him. He was looking askance to me, smug, sneaky. The secret to the trick was in the casual correction, the misdirection; when he grasped his hands together again it was in a much different way. Deliberately, he rotated his fastened hands so that the thumbs pointed up and separated his hands with a whimsical flutter of his fingers. The illusion was the equivalent of turning your head all the way around, only with your wrists. I proudly bumped my shoulder into his side, nodding emphatically to acknowledge his triumph. "You figured it out." Pulling me against him affectionately, he held me with both arms and an odd contentment settled over us like a warm quilt. I felt peculiarly complete, like something had concluded between us, as if we had finally learned all we could from each other. I sat with him for a long time, until I felt sleep dragging on me. I let myself close my eyes and drift off for another nap that lasted most of the afternoon. When I awoke, Riley was in her chains and Pratt was serving her share of water. Riley noticed me stretching. "How's your foot?" It freaking killed. "Better," I said and forced a smile. I awakened several more times throughout the day. Each time, Pratt's location in the cave was different, but it felt like no time had passed in between, like flipping through a stack of picture stills. Once, he was staring at the fire as he sat by it, another time I found him standing by the bed glowering at me in serious thought. I think one time he was tinkering around his dark alcove. Sometimes Riley was awake, sometimes she was asleep. I finally woke again with Pratt behind me, his large hand cupped around my chest, his thumb absently running over one stiff nipple. I was still drugged with that ultra-groggy feeling of getting too much sleep, but it felt extremely good to stretch out, arching my backside against him with his hands on me. His nose skipped down my shoulder, inhaling me. "You've been sleeping a lot today," Riley said from her chains, tone dropping into that objective voice of a future doctor. "Are you sure you're feeling okay? Do you have a fever?" "I feel fine. A little groggy, I guess." She nodded, but I could still see the worried strain in her face. Pratt jumped up to get more water. "I think he's starting to get it," Riley said, her eyes flicking over to him. I propped up on my hand. "Who? Pratt?" "He hasn't left your side in hours. He's worried about you. He just strokes your hair and watches you sleep." "Didn't he go hunting?" "Not yet." Her chains rattled as she adjusted, sitting up. "I think he's afraid to leave you." Kneeling down, Pratt handed me a cup of water. I was feeling thirsty, but I made sure to leave half for Riley and handed it back. He urged me to keep drinking. The bitter aftertaste was still there, I noted, and it reminded me of something Riley told me in the menstruation room. She told me Pratt had given her something to make her sleepy. Was that why I was sleeping the day away? Perhaps Pratt thought sleep was some kind of cure-all. If I wasn't so weary, I'd be angrier with his all-natural roofie. When I was done drinking, he got to his feet and reached down for my hand. Riley was right about Pratt: he did seem worried, the intense way he stared at me without blinking. I favored my right foot as I got up. I found if I walked on the outside of my foot I didn't have to limp too much and Pratt helped me keep steady by holding my hand. "Try to keep your toe elevated in there," Riley warned from her chains. "That giant litter box we use as a bathroom is a cesspool." I smiled. "I'll try." We entered the tunnel and Pratt spun around to face me at the fork. His eyes were on fire as he glared at me, imploring that I make my choice again, now. He seemed more torn than usual, glancing fretfully down at my inflamed foot. I think part of him wanted me to choose to leave. He was afraid for me and he knew he didn't have the resources to help me. Shooting him an irritated look, I didn't hesitate as I headed down the right tunnel. My infection would clear up on its own. Pratt had the right idea; all I needed was a little extra rest. I heard Pratt's quick exhale and I don't think it sounded like one of relief. He followed me into the next cavern and I started to head over to the bucket where I usually did my business, but my vision started to cloud and my balance faltered. "Whoa," I said and reached out for Pratt. He caught me from behind to hold me stable. "I think you gave me too much sleepy-juice that time." Taking another step in the right direction, I felt my body tipping again, my bleary eyes struggling to focus, my head woozy and full of helium, but I felt secure as Pratt wrapped his arms around me and guided me down to the floor. As I fought to straighten my bearings, Pratt cradled me on the inside of his arm, gazing down at me. His eyes sadly gleamed. "Hey, I'm going to be okay," I said and tried to reach up to touch his face, but my limbs felt heavy, strapped down with concrete bricks... ...and that's when I realized his overdose had been intentional. "Pratt," I croaked. "Pratt, no..." Whining in response, his hand trembled as he ran his nails through my hair. There was a muscle in his jaw that flexed continuously and he took sporadic sips of air through his nose. Behind him, the room was spinning and I felt sick. "Please, I'm not ready..." I choked. There was a hardness growing in my throat and my eyes distorted over with tears. "I have to say goodbye to her...to you. I can't...I can't let our last conversation be about cesspools!" But he comprehended none of my words. I could feel everything slipping away quickly, tenebrous shadows looming in the edges of my vision. He turned his head away to wipe an errant tear. He looked back at me. I fought to memorize his face. But everything was fading so fast, it was like looking at him underwater, wavy and nebulous. The vague outline of his wild hair, the dark, bottomless pits of his eyes, the shadowing of his face hair...this was not how I wanted to remember him! And he just kept rocking, rocking, rocking. Until I floated away. * There were a few instances of consciousness that I can still remember. The scratchy inside of a sweater dragging over my face. Looking down at Pratt's bare feet, trudging through sun dappled, autumn leaves. Brushing bits of hard asphalt from the side of my face... But when the last of Pratt's magic water left my system, the world, bright and white, filled in slowly around me, a gradual focus. Daylight hurt my eyes, but it was the cold wet nose that prodded me to open them. I found myself staring up two shiny black nostrils, snorting huffs of air on me. "Ugh, you again," I said. My throat was so dry it hurt. The nose withdrew and the golden retriever it was attached to lifted his ears at me and sat down. His tail thumped eagerly against carpeting. At least I was off the road. I moved my squinty eyes, processing large sunny windows, maple carpentry, and the forest green upholstery underneath me, covered in blonde dog hair. Stifling under a faded patchwork quilt, I threw it off me like a disease and leaned up on my elbow. The wood slab coffee table in front of me was concealed in open newspapers, junk mail and two half-drunk cups of cold coffee and the sage accent rug was littered with crumpled white men's socks and shredded chew toys. The flat screen TV on the wall seemed too big for the room and I swear the monstrous black woodstove in the corner was radiating the flames of hell from its vents. Add that to the clothes I was suffocating in and already a light sheen of greasy sweat was developing under my arms. The dog's ears suddenly flattened and his tail quickened, looking adoringly up at someone entering the room behind me. "You're up," said a man, circling around with a sense of urgency. He was carrying a black roasting pan with both hands and a spa green bath towel was draped over one shoulder. His jeans were soft and worn, especially at the knees, with a splatter of white paint dried at the ankles. As he set the pan on the floor, I could see the sleeves of his blue flannel shirt were rolled up his hairy forearms and the front was open, revealing a gray tee-shirt with some black writing on it. His physique was mildly husky and a week's worth of brown whiskers raggedly covered his cheeks and neck. He started to spread the towel out in front of the couch I was lying on. "Bucky, move." The golden retriever obediently backed up just enough to be out of the way. Through tufts of dark brown hair, his bright green eyes flicked up from his task to briefly meet mine. "I'm Jack," he said and tipped his head sideways toward the dog. "That's Bucky." I answered with a sharp inhale, my rescue dream swimming up in my mind's eye. Jack wasn't exactly like the helpful man in my dream, but the eyes were dead on. "Your foot hurt?" "Huh?" He nodded down at my feet. "Looks like it hurts. Did you step on something in the woods?" I glanced down at my bare foot and my angry big toe. "Yeah. I mean, no." "Which is it?" His green eyes scanned me, curiously concerned. "I think something got in my shoe. It bit me. Where am I?" "About three miles west of Highway 135." "Ugh," I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "It's too early for cardinal directions." He chuckled. "Not far from Kugler. Bucky, stop!" Bucky suddenly quit sniffing a spot on my jeans and looked guiltily up at Jack. "Can you sit up?" Jack asked me, moving the roasting pan to the towel he just laid down. "Dip your foot in here. Let me know if it's too hot." I scooted upright and swiveled forward, lifting the cuff of my jeans as far as it would go. The water was pleasantly hot and as my foot settled, some pinkish-gray sediment roiled up. "What's in it?" "Baby detergent," he said. He cleared a spot off the coffee table and sat on the corner of it. "Oh." I looked around the cabin for signs of a baby. A bib, a nookie. Something. "You have one?" "What? A baby?" He gave me an odd look. "No. It's just good for infections." I nodded, noticing Jack's concern deepen as he lowered his gaze to my front. "Your shirt's on inside out. Backwards, too." I looked down, the care tag of my sweater sticking out at the base of my throat. "It's how the kids are wearing them now." He snorted a laugh. "Are they even yours?" "Of course they are. Why do you ask?" "They're way too big for you." They were looser, I realized, thanks to the 38 day Cave Cleanse. I shrugged in a noncommittal way and thankfully Jack didn't ask any more questions about it. Instead, he thought of something and jumped to his feet. "Be right back." Bucky stayed and looked at me sideways, trying his best to be obedient. Unable to stand the heat anymore, I removed my jacket, a navy blue windbreaker I had been wearing on my way home about 40 days ago, and as I did I noticed Amy's bird-foot ring on my pinky. Feeling a strange, watery sort of déjà vu, I remembered my rabbit tooth bracelet, and I dug under both cuffs of my sweater to find it was still on my right wrist. Glancing over my shoulder to the hall, I hurried to lift the bottom ribbing of my sweater up over my head to turn it right side out. I also noted I wasn't wearing a bra, but I didn't blame Pratt for omitting that baffling undergarment. I thought the sweater seemed scratchier than I remembered, but it might have been because it was inside out. The break from the extreme heat was definitely welcome and I considered leaving the sweater off, until I remembered I was in the real world now where things like that didn't swing. I wriggled into the bulky pullover the right way and as I smoothed it, I dared another look to the hall behind me, where Jack was standing. He looked like he'd been stopped, but now he hustled into the room, keeping his eyes averted from mine. Above his scruffy stubble, his cheeks were stained pink and his neck was flushed as a rash. Maybe I wasn't as quick at redressing as I thought I was. Jack said, "I think he smells your dog." I had discarded my jacket to the couch cushion beside me and Bucky was eagerly taking in all the new scents it offered, but recoiled abruptly when he found a smell he didn't like. He eased back in warily to continue sniffing. The Cave Ch. 04 Jack sat back down on the edge of the coffee table and set a first aid kit down on the floor and then handed me two bottles: water and ibuprofen. He draped a matching sea green hand towel over one knee. His gray undershirt flattened against his chest and now I could read the logo on the front: Anderson Construction. "I don't have a dog," I said. "I'm a cat person." I cracked open the water and took two large gulps. "Ah," he nodded. "That must be what he smells." Doubtful, I thought. I put two capsules on my tongue and washed them down with another three drinks of perfect water, flowing down my parched throat like ribbons of silk. "So are you going to tell me how you ended up face down by my mailbox?" "Um," I started. I had a pretty good idea who put me there and part of me wanted to tell Jack all about it. The cave and the strange creature who held me there, who kept other women and how we had to call the police to get a search going to find Riley... Oh Christ, Riley. Poor Riley. If Pratt was mourning my eviction the way he'd mourned Amy, then Riley was probably thirsty and hungry right about now. And scared. She said she could only handle the cave if I was there. "Let me guess. Wild night?" "Sort of. I was in the woods. And I got...lost." "How long?" I wasn't sure what to tell him. I had no idea if anyone was looking for me, if I had been declared a missing person or if I would have to eventually explain the last 40 days of my whereabouts. Lying straight out of the gate would probably not bode well, but I decided I could claim confusion later on if I had to. "Since yesterday." "Oh." He frowned. "You must be exhausted. Do you live around here?" "My uncle has a cabin on Pike Bay. It's no-where near as nice as this, though." Dirty socks and shedding dog aside. "You're visiting him?" "No he's not there. I'm just borrowing it. For work." "Work? What do you do?" "I'm a writer," I said. He looked vaguely impressed. "Anything I might know?" "Not unless you've had coffee with my mother. She's my biggest promoter." Jack chuckled. "I've written a series of books on small town life in Minnesota." Narrowing his eyes to appraise me, he said, "L.B. Ringer." My jaw went slack. L.B. Ringer was my professional name. "How did you—" Smirking, he got to his feet and bent towards me, propping a hand on the back of the couch. My heart squeezed. I thought he was leaning forward to kiss me, but he was reaching for something on the console behind me. I had to duck sideways to keep his hispid chin from brushing the top of my head and I stared unblinking at the dwindle of dark whiskers covering his Adam's apple. He smelled good. Some spicy shower gel. Retreating, he handed me a recent edition of my first book. "I thought you looked familiar. The leaves in your hair must have thrown me off." I flipped the book over to the back jacket where my photo was printed. I remember the day it had been taken. The photographer was an hour late, which meant we had an hour less of outdoor light. Half the pictures were too dark and useless. "You've read it?" "It's my wife's. She gave it to me to read." My stomach plunged, but I shouldn't have been surprised. Of course he had a wife. Men like him were not often single. It was a game of musical chairs and once again I'm left standing alone. Truthfully, I didn't know why I cared so much. I just met him. "And did you?" I asked, a little too acidly. "Not yet," he said and looked down at his empty hands. He switched the subject. "So you're not from around here?" "I have an apartment in Duluth." "City girl," he said and I didn't appreciate his teasing half-smile. "Heavy forestry must puzzle you." "Uh, sure." Before the creep of urban sprawl, my childhood home had been quite remote. The humor drained from his face as he changed his tune. "Hey, I get lost in these woods all the time." I crossed my arms and looked away, suddenly feeling so isolated. Secrets'll do that to a person. Jack cleared his throat. "I think it's soaked long enough." He had me prop my foot on his toweled knee and then opened his first aid kit. Every home had some semblance of first aid even if it was just a bottle of peroxide and a tin of Band-aids. If Pratt had one, I might still be in the cave right now. Jack's hands worked quickly but gently to disinfect and bandage my toe and I only winced once when he secured the tape firmly. "Good as new," he muttered. "If I were you, I'd soak it two or three times a day until it heals. I'll give you some detergent to take home." Since my toe screamed every time I tried to put on my shoe, Jack also gave me one of his heavy thermal socks to put over my thin ankle sock. Then he offered me an insulated coat to put on over my windbreaker—thirty-eight days ago, it had been warm enough for just a windbreaker—and Jack commented how he couldn't believe I didn't freeze to death last night. But I passed on the extra layer. The cool air would feel good on my heated skin. As I hopped to the entryway steps, Jack slipped an arm around my waist and braced me against his side to help me down to the landing. I felt a warm swell in my chest and my armpits began to broil as we exchanged tentative looks. "Come on, Bucky," he said and opened the door. Bucky barked once and shot out. Jack cursed. "Not again." Lying on Jack's welcome mat was a heap of gray fur. As Bucky was cautiously sniffing the bloodiest parts, I realized it was dead rabbit. Elated, I hobbled onto the porch, steadying myself against the wooden rail, and my eyes trawled the tree-line around Jack's rural property. I didn't think Pratt came out in the day, unless it was early morning to pick berries. Was he still out there? Was he watching us now? "Bucky, no," Jack said, approaching the rabbit and picking it up by the ears. "This is the fourth one in two days." "What?" I asked, dazed. I felt numb inside as I witnessed the collision of my two worlds. "Can you wait a sec? I gotta put it in the trash can in the garage. If I throw it in the woods, Bucky'll just get to it." He started to step off the porch. "Let me have it," I said. He looked at me with those sharp green eyes. "What for?" "It's a perfectly good rabbit. Fresh kill. I'll make stew out of it." "Stew?" He sounded like he'd never heard the word before. "It could be poisoned." "I'm sure it's fine." Jack wasn't convinced and arched an eyebrow. "You know how to skin and gut a rabbit?" "I've seen it done lots of times. How hard can it be?" Reluctantly, Jack put the rabbit in the back of his pickup. Then he drove me home. Bucky sat in the middle, enthralled with some scent on my sleeve. The hair was raised on his shoulders. On Highway 169, I kept my eyes peeled for my abandoned car, but it had been long towed away and I reminded myself I was going to have to hunt down the impound lot that was keeping it. I wondered why Pratt would leave rabbits on Jack's doorstep. It made me think his dropping me off at Jack's mailbox was not coincidence and those rabbits represented a kind of dowry. Poor Jack. He had no idea what was going on. I directed Jack to my cabin and he pulled up to the porch and turned off the engine. He carried the limp rabbit to a picnic table in the front yard and asked if I had any newspaper to put down. "To soak the blood." "Why can't I put it in the sink inside?" "Trust me, you won't like the smell." I found a local flier for Zup's grocery on the doorstep and laid it down for Jack. "You're sure you don't want help gutting it?" "No," I said, propping my hands on my hips as I stared down at it. "This is something I should do by myself." Plus I had about 40 days of showers to catch up on and I'm sure the answering machine inside was completely full. I lifted my foot off the ground and reached down to take off the thermal sock he'd lent to me. "Oh, thanks," he said and took it back. "A sock without a mate is pretty useless, I guess." "Not always," I mumbled and our gazes linked together, heavy with some unspoken connection. I thanked him for his help, which he modestly dismissed, and I watched him give me a friendly wave as he backed down the driveway. I gave the rabbit a heavy glance before going inside. Alone, it felt bizarre. I leaned against the door and gazed inside with a hard, pragmatic look. Despite the overcast outside, the room was blindingly bright. And hot as hell. It had been recently renovated and everything was blonde oak. The walls, ceiling, floors, even the kitchen table and chairs. The cupboards had been stripped and painted antique white and the counters were dark granite. It was open to the living room and the furniture was all beige leather with a discreetly sized TV. To my left was the door to the master bedroom. It was a stranger's home and even though my dirty coffee cups were in the sink and my laptop and all my research notes were strewn across the oval dining table, I found it difficult to unwind. Immediately, I headed for the windows, lowering blinds and shutting curtains. I found the thermostat under the stairs, set to a blazing 74 degrees. I tapped the button until it was at 65 instead. After that, I opened the refrigerator. All condiments, including the cream I used in the morning (which was now expired) and white origami boxes of Chinese leftovers. I hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday, but I wasn't desperate enough for old spicy hunan. I realized if I was going to make rabbit stew, I was going to need ingredients. Fortunately, the grocer in town delivered. For now, I found some slightly stale saltine crackers in the cupboard and reluctantly headed for the side table in the living room, leaning over the answering machine, bracing for a double digit number flashing red at me. One. One message. Stunned, I pushed play. It was the towing company who had my car. I'm not sure how they got this number, but they gave me the address and phone number of where I could reach them. I called them immediately and made arrangements tomorrow to pay the impound fee and pick it up. Next, I powered up my laptop to check my email, but first I noted the date in the lower right hand corner of the screen. October 21, Sunday. My makeshift calendar in the cave had been right on. I found one email from my mother dated about a week ago. Just a casual note. She hoped I was getting a lot of work done. Nothing from my editor. Of course, my cell phone was in my car, but if my editor was having trouble getting a hold of me on that, she would email me. If it was a true emergency, she had the number to the cabin. I just wanted to shower, eat something and take a nap, but I pushed all that back as I looked up how to skin a rabbit. I found instructions that included with or without a knife. Pratt could do it without, but it involved a lot of joint bending I wasn't keen on. After a cursory inspection of the kitchen, I discovered a hunting knife in one of the utility drawers. It was in its own leather case and looked brand new. I printed out the directions and watched a couple internet videos to refresh myself. Then I put on an old sweatshirt, made myself a little workstation on the old picnic table outside and finally got to work. I needed this time to myself, to decompress, as a way to ease back into my old life. The directions kept blowing away and I had to hold them down with rocks. I made several small cuts around its paws, the neck and under the tail, but it was peeling back the skin that took a delicate touch, at least to my novice hands, and I went slowly. Thinking of Riley as I worked, I speculated how she would make it through those first few days of Pratt's lament. There had been a time I would have sent help to the cave, but my scruples had gotten fuzzy over the last two months. And I feared what might happen to Pratt if anyone found his home. Getting through those first few days would be difficult for Riley. After that...well...I hoped they would get along as well as Pratt and I had. Forty days missing. Two relatively noncritical messages. I was still reeling from this reality, although I guess I could believe it. I was by no means a shut-in, but I was borrowing the cabin for four solitary months with the intension of finishing my next book. Everyone knew I wanted to be left alone. And now it was crunch time. If I was going to make my deadline, I was going to have to work nonstop. It took me about an hour from start to finish, compared to Pratt's quick 5 minute skin, and when I was finished, I felt quite accomplished. I skinned a rabbit. Forty days ago, I hadn't even touched a dead rabbit before. Now I was about to make stew from one. Pratt intended this rabbit to be a gift and doing anything less with it would be an insult. I set the knife down, wiped my bloodied hands on my shirt...and hysterically bawled. * As it turned out, someone did miss me during my absence. Daisy, my cat. I had let her outside the evening I disappeared and now she was gone. I supposed it was a good thing. Forty days locked in a house, Daisy probably would have starved to death. I left some food and water on the porch to tempt her home and went in to shower and take a nap. It was stifling in the bedroom and I had to keep a window cracked before I could get any sleep. At first the bed seemed too soft, the quilts too heavy, but I ended up sleeping a solid five hours of dreamless slumber. I slept naked like I had grown accustomed, but when I rolled out of bed, the light tee-shirt and yoga pants I fumbled in the dark to find seemed heavy and binding. My hair felt atrocious against my face, my punishment for falling asleep with wet hair, and I pulled it up in an elastic band. Punching random buttons on the fireplace remote, I managed to get a fire going in the living room. That, paired with a tiny decorative lamp in the corner of the kitchen counter was more than enough light for me to function in. While the oven preheated, I decided to cook the rabbit like I would a chicken and seasoned it with salt and pepper. I had already thoroughly washed it in the sink, and had been storing in a roasting pan in the refrigerator. Todd, the delivery guy from Zup's, arrived around five. I had just made the cut off for an online order this morning. His van was backed up to the porch. He had white blonde hair under a stocking cap, fair eyebrows with matching eyelashes and ruddy cheeks. "Ooh geez," he said when I opened the door. "Did year power jus' go oot?" "No," I said and pointed him to the kitchen. I had to grin at his accent. They were always noticeable in small towns, even to other Minnesotans. "I just like it dark." Chopping potatoes and vegetables, I used the remote to turn on the TV, but shut it off again after a few minutes and tried the radio instead. I shut that off, too. They were good for staving off loneliness, but I was content with the quiet bubble of boiling stock water. Later, I ate three large bowls of hot stew until I was stuffed and put the rest in the refrigerator. I had just sat down to organize my research notes when headlights panned over the front window blinds. Hobbling to the bedroom, I strapped into a bra. From the way poor Todd had been staring, I knew it was obvious to him I wasn't wearing one and I didn't want to embarrass anymore visitors. Someone was knocking by the time I ran back into the main room. I opened the door. "Jack," I greeted, pleasantly alarmed. "Hi." He smiled and briskly nodded, already brushing by me to enter. "Can I come in?" I had to stumble backwards. "Uh, sure." Taking off his khaki coat, he glanced at the flickering fireplace. His hair looked wet from a shower and he had changed his shirt. "Is this a bad time?" "Not exactly. Why are you here?" "Did you make that stew?" he asked. "Why? You want some?" He hung his coat on the back of one of the bar chairs and smirked at me. "I made sure to eat before I came." I gave him a sly, wary look. "Then why are you here?" "Someone should really be here to call poison control." "So that's what this is about," I said and smothered a grin. "Well, Smart-ass, I just had three bowls and I feel fine so far." Looking around: the kitchen, the living room, the workstation on the dining table, he said, "Sometimes symptoms don't show up for hours. But I will take something to drink." I cocked my head at his pluck. "All I have is water." "Water's fine," he said, sliding back the bar chair to sit at the counter. I went to the refrigerator for two bottled-waters. I slammed one down in front of him and cracked open the other. "It's dark as a cave in here," he noted, casually rubbing his short beard with the back of his fingers. "Sure you weren't expecting someone else?" "Wearing this?" I wryly asked. His eyes flickered to my chest. "Were you getting ready for bed?" "You'd know if I was," I said, sipping my water. "Why's that? "I sleep in the nude." His mouth opened slightly, speechless. I was surprising myself with my own boldness, but then his expression turned hesitant, that all too familiar I-have-a-wife look. Slowly, he started to open his water. Immediately, I reigned myself in. "Where is your wife, tonight?" Lifting the water to his lips, he stopped, his moss green eyes going cold. I noticed there was no ring on his finger and tried to remember if there had been one there earlier so I could accurately appraise his level of scuzzballness. For some reason, I pictured his wife as a blonde. A blonde spin-class instructor with tight thighs. He lowered the water bottle without taking a drink. "She's about twenty-six miles from here," he said and his tone had dropped 15 degrees, "at the Calvary Cemetery in Virginia." I squeezed shut my eyes and sighed, wishing this moment would quickly pass. I glared at him. "You couldn't have told me that before?" At least he had the grace to look contrite. "Sorry. I'm used to people just knowing. Small town and all." "What do I know, I'm from the city," I said blandly. His shoulders dropped. "Give me a break, will you? After I let you take that rabbit, my whole day was shot, wondering if I was going to find your picture in the obits this week. Frankly my conscience couldn't take it." Feeling a stab of disappointment, I took his admittance as a rejection. So this wasn't about me at all, it was about him, his conscience and his nice-guy reputation. But I was still curious. "So what now?" "Just keep doing what you were doing," he said and faintly smiled. "I'll keep a vigilant watch on your vital signs." "Well I was about to soak my foot." "Perfect." I remembered seeing a foot spa in one of the upstairs bathrooms and went up to get it. When I came back, Jack was standing at my workstation, holding my well-worn printed directions for skinning a rabbit. It was wrinkled from the wind and smudged with dirt from the rocks I'd used as paper-weights. He showed it to me. "You really didn't know to skin a rabbit?" "Nope." He looked at me, bemused, and then helped me fill the foot spa with hot water and a splash of baby detergent. He asked me if I had a deck of cards anywhere and while my foot soaked we played cribbage on the sofa cushion between us. While proceeding to skunk me, he told me about his contracting business, stories about Bucky when he was a puppy and how his parents just recently moved to Texas to get away from the cold. I wanted to ask about his wife, but in light of our misunderstanding, I decided to wait on that. He asked me what it was like to be a writer. Remembering my one message on the answering machine, I stopped myself before the word "lonely" dropped from my lips, instantly elevating my foot from the foot bath.