The Cavern of the Bear (OPEN~please read 1st post)

I watch him as he makes his way across the cavern. His legs seem weak, at first; his steps are slightly shaky, like those of a new born foal. His color is high but it calms down as he wends his way toward the table.

I want to speak to him. To tell him that it won't be as bad as he thinks, but in my heart, I believe it will be worse than he is ready for. After all, I am usually the one that everyone sees as comforting. It is my twin that inspires fear. But this time? I want a little of what he has inside.

I want to paint him red and white.


"No, sweet one, you are NOT ready. But you will learn."

I stride to his side, pull his arms up, position them above his head. There is a lone click in the silence and then another as I anchor his wrists with steel cuffs. The color rises, splotchy, on his face. I lean in then, to bless his chin with a soft kiss, but I don't stay there.

Instead? I raise his head and apply the blindfold to his eyes, tying the length of black velvet securely behind his head. Fingers check, to make sure he can not see, not at the top, not at the bottom. I want to take his hearing too. But I won't. Not yet.

He should hear each and every snick of the razor.

Finally, I retreat to the foot of the table. Small hands attach each restraint there, pulling steel chains through the bolt holes so that there is NO give. He has very strong legs. I don't want any movement there, at all.


"Are you comfortable, sweet boy? Do you need anything...looser?"

I would like to say that I waited for him to answer me. But that would be a lie.I didn't wait. I couldn't. The razor was singing to me from it's spot in the bowl of ice and I needed to answer it's call. I walked to the stand that held my newest toys and picked up the straight razor.

It opened with a barely heard sound.

I know he heard it though.

His body...tensed.

Now.

Now.

Now I could teach him...about sensation...and how to fear the woman who comforts. A smile tipped my lips upward as I made my way toward his feet. Very nice feet, but far too pale.

They needed some color.

The razor flicked out...and pricked...left and then right. Big toe...and pinky toe.
 
The restraints are nothing new. Stronger certainly, but I know they're from respect. From the knowledge of how hard I might buck otherwise. The thought should fill me with pride. But it doesn't, it only adds another level of control. A shaking to the pillar of my faith. Am I ready, or is she right?

I should never doubt her. I can't answer her question I find. And I know it isn't real, she would not loosen the straps here unless I was quivering in terror. So I make myself comfy and try to contain the quickening breath when the blindfold comes.

Try not to squeak when I hear the click of her razor. Try not to cry when I imagine fervently the damage that could be caused. Try not to swallow as I imagine it at my throat, and then do as I recall how much trust I have for her.

Then the first touches come. And I am undone. I can't cry, the quick flash of it's touch happens so fast It does not hurt. Then it does. The bite of open wounds. Made all the more horrible without knowledge. Am I bleeding? How badly. The chains are tight, and good for them as I thrash in them. My legs held firmly. How bad could that be if I was not held. I stop. I shiver, I can not stop shivering I find.

My mouth feels stuffed like I have been gagged.

Like my tongue is too thick for words.

Like my teeth are grit together to snap.

I am, for the first time in a very long time.

Afraid.

Afraid of what could happen.

Afraid at the loss of my careful control, afraid of shame, and embarrassment. Afraid of stopping at the smallest of injuries.

Afraid perhaps of my illusions vanishing, and knowing that I really am Prey, and I have stepped into the Wolve's den.

And lastly. secretly. Afraid that I deserve it all.
 
Two little pin pricks. Small dots of blood on perfectly pale feet. My smile widens. Laughter erupts. I push the giddiness away. Poking him is not the whole of it, not by a long shot.

It is just a beginning.

He thrashes but the chains hold him firmly, and he doesn't go far, at all. How can he? Here in this place? He belongs to me. And in some ways, I am more cat than canine here. Here, I like to play with my meal.

And he is a meal.

I take a step to the side of the table, so that my razor can prick at the muscle on the top of his foot. Not slice...only prick. Quick. Once and again. Two dots well with rich redness. Hand moves upward and now...I slice. Less than a quarter of an inch, barely cleaving the flesh just below his knee.


"Are you still convinced you are ready, sweet one?"

I lean down and lap the viscous fluid that flows from that tiny wound. It tastes sweet...warm...slightly metallic. I don't fight the giggle this time. No point in it. After all, the razor is no where near done tasting his flesh....and he has so much flesh to cover.

So a prick...to his belly.

A slice to his chest.

A small cut just below his collar bone.

A sharp prick just beside his navel.

Then I flipped the razor and held it by it's sharp point. The handle? Caressed the side of his penis. I pressed lightly...very lightly and whispered.


"Do you think it would hurt if I cut too deeply?"

That laughter...again.
 
The laugh is the worst thing really. In a sense it is the shocking duality of how I think of her. Caring, and this is cruel. More than cruel, it is terrifying. But it is hard to say stop. Hard to imagine disappointing her. Then I feel my shin cut, and spark. So hard to stay still.

I answer her question half broken, more than shaken. "No." Barely a whisper.

Barely breath.

I suck my belly away, and release it with a small sob when I feel my chest cut. the broken bones that nick take more from me, and I strangle thinking how close my throat is.

It's a relief to feel it against my cock. It won't bleed that fast. It is utterly limp, and the feel of grit against it is the safest I've felt since I began to bleed. I know that they're closed by now. I don't feel them ooze, and the notion that I am not seriously hurt calms me enough to be curiously defiant. I am terrified.

But I know who I am. The words are like chalk, and her laughter makes me want to swallow them. Makes me want to curl up despite the chains and try to desperately protect the truly valuable things.

"Not at all. It's too sharp to feel when something like that happens until it's too late. Will you destroy your toy before you've ever played with it?"

I choke for a minute. Unwilling to sob, despite wet eyes.

"Cut it the fuck off if you're gonna, If not at least leave a matching scar."
 
His words startle me. Does he think I am actually fucking harming him? Does he have no fucking clue just who he has chosen to play with? Obviously not. I close my razor and place it back in the bowl of ice.

"I will allow you that one. After all, you are a man...and men are notorious for speaking before they think. Break my toy?"

Hand reaches out and grasps the soft cock lying upon his thigh.

"I don't think of you as a toy...and this is NOT a game."

A momentary silence as my hand caresses his length.

"That is where you fucked up, sweet one. You made an assumption about me. You acted as if my feelings, my own dominance, are things that I can just turn off and on, like a spigot. You are not a fuck, to me. You are not a toy, to me. THIS is a lesson. Why don't you shut the fuck up...and learn it?"

My voice is low, husky. Is there anger there? Yes. Because he still doesn't get it. I am more than a two dimensional adjunct to his dirty little fantasies. I am ME. I am his friend. And at this moment I am his Alpha.

"So, you think on that...while I clean you up. Then~ I will release you and you can go...or stay as you choose. If you go? No hard feelings, but this offer won't ever come again. If you stay? Well, we both learn."

A cool, soft cotton cloth appears beside the bowl of ice. With steady hands, I dip it and proceed to keep my word, cleaning up the few drops of blood, wiping the sweat and fear...away.

Finally, when he is cleaned up, I release the locks that bind him. Fingers untie his blind fold and then when he is ready to move, I turn away from the table and retreat. I stop when I reach the entrance of the cave.


"Get up, sweet one. Decide what you want to do."
 
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Shakily. Embarrassed much more than hurt. Knowing what was wrong, and how it's his fault. His legs curl to be held in his arms. Fetal, safe. Hands touch the longest cut under his knee. A mere scratch. His toes wiggle and they too are more than fine. The simple pin prick of the razor long closed.

His legs unfurl and his hands touch his chest. The single smooth line is all that remains.

You were never hurt. You were never in danger. You fuck up, you fuck up you fucked up.

That sing song voice of doubt that lives inside every man who used to be Small. Weak. Sick. Who isn't anymore. Who is proud of himself, and confident in his abilities. That voice always remains, looking for your little moments of weakness. It hurts so much more than anything that happened today. Looking out at a displeased Alpha. All the fury and cold, and danger of the cavern. Of a place for predators to devour prey. All that danger, of being a rabbit torn apart by a Wolf. None of it means a damn thing. The environment, the cold on a naked body. The cold stone thirstily drinking the drops of cold sweat, and the run off of cool washing waters. It's hard to even think of himself as I right now. Just another man.

Her displeasure hurts more than anything else.

I cry. Just small. But simple. A single sob wracking a body that holds as much muscle as it does bone. Shoulders slump like I'm too defeated to rise. Like I've spent 12 rounds scoring a 7. I have only been able to continue by being too stubborn to stay down, and now I am too badly crippled to stand up.

I still know I have gotten off lightly. I've hurt her more. Been wrong, and wronged her, and continued to do so. Over and over and over. That lesson still unlearned. Like a puppy who continues to jump no matter how often his nose is smacked. Off the table, to my knees, and on all fours. Crawling.

To my belly and holding her foot. Attempting to make the difference between us as big as possible. Looking up five feet that may as well be five hundred.

"I'm sorry, and I don't want to leave."

"I want to learn from the wolf inside the door."

I look back down at her feet. And kiss one.

"When I am ready to learn again."
 
I did not expect him to crawl. I had told him that I prefer him on his feet...or on his back. I like the way he towers over me, the strength of him. But the crawling? It breaks my heart. He seems so very, very lost. So completely and utterly confused that i am no longer sure just who is punishing whom.

That bothers me.


"I'm sorry, and I don't want to leave."

"I want to learn from the wolf inside the door."

Soft, masculine lips on the top of my foot. The feel of warmth~his breath? A tear? He hurts so badly, in ways that I can not fix, not yet.

One small hand reaches for his hair, tangles in the mass, lefts his head. I need to see his eyes.


"When I am ready to learn again."

I nod. Just once, my fingers gripping the mass of his hair, tightly, tightly. My voice, when I can dredge it out of the chest that houses it~is soft, quiet, and faintly worried.

"You just tell me when you think you will be ready. For now? This is at an end. A good Top knows when to quit...and for now, I quit."

Brown eyes gaze down at him, small hand releases his hair.

"Get up. I don't like you on your knees. It makes you appear to be less than you are."
 
Micah~Hunter, Extraordinaire

It's been a while since I got to play with my intrepid little assassin. I have missed her, don't you know? Finally, an idea presented itself. This is the result.

One can never tell just when the next hunt will go down. Not in these times~when every person you meet could be something other, not human. Vampires? Witches? Werewolves? Demons? Oh yeah. They ALL exist and for some odd reason they come to me for their last rites, 'cept they don't know that I plan on giving it to them.

Each type of monster requires a different method. You know, to clean them up. Purify them, if that works better for you. For vampires? A stake through the heart to hold them immobile and then decapitation. Always both. Not one or the other. I learned that the hard way. When this cute little snuggle bunny I staked out in the sun paid me a midnight visit a week later. Always both.

White witches had nothing to fear from me. After all, they were in the game to help, not hinder, and some of my favorite people played in the hoo-doo sandbox. But warlocks, black witches? Those who used magick to harm? You had to fight fire with fire. A binding to stop them from attacking, causing the magical energies to rebound. A single shot to the heart. Always both. Not one or the other.

Werewolves? Hell, any kind of were animal.? Silver blades. Bullets were too tricky and without dead aim? You were apt to end up as chow. But a sharp, silver dipped blade? Poisoned them. Made their speedy healing slow down to almost human. Then you could take your time, once their supernatural stamina and speed wore away.

Tell the truth? I always felt bad for cleaning up the were's. Usually what turned them was an accident, not something they wanted. Hell, half the time they thanked me as they passed from this vale of tears. I always said a prayer for them, soon as their last breath had been drawn. Poor animals, walking around in human skin.

But my especial hatred, my best tactics, were saved for those demons who chose to hit the Earth in their own skins. These were rare. Most demons would rather just ride in someone else's flesh, do the damage that needed done and ske-daddle, leaving their human hobby horses to figure out just what the hell had happened. For those? I let the church handle it. After all, that's what the church was for, right?

Real demons? The one's with enough power to come through and camp out? They were strong. Very strong. Think angelic host on steroids strong. They fought fast and dirty and they very rarely lost. So I had to read a lot. I had to learn to watch for types of demons~Incubus, Succubus, Plague, Death. I had to remember which one suffered from which sickness, which weakness. And I had to plan their capture, their demise.

Playing in the big leagues didn't pay well, but it got me to sleep at night. And honestly? It helped me to deal with the hole where my heart had been until very recently. And what more could a girl ask for?

So here I am. In that club. The place where I lucked into the very first OTHER I had ever met. The music is blaring. The rhythms are pouring through me like sweet, slow molasses. And though many are watching me~men, women, other~I only have eyes for her.

The red head with the fuck me smile and the go to hell attitude. Her legs are bare. Well muscled, long. Her skin is alabaster. Eyes are cobalt blue and tip tilted. And that glorious hair? Loose and straight, falling like a cloak to the rise of her ass.
She looks good enough to eat.

Had she not been the type of thing she was? I would be all for making her into my own personal meal for a night or two. But she wasn't human. I could tell when I brushed passed her. She had that faint tang of sulfur, of attar of roses and burning match heads. Her eyes had latched onto my own and she smiled, the smile of an OTHER.

I interest them. All of them. They like what they smell on me. Ever since the first one. I could be one of them~with my flashing grin and my ability to make people bleed with out a by your leave. I must smell like home to most of them. It doesn't matter.

She will be leaving with me, if not tonight? Then soon....and when she does? When the plan is finally put into motion? There will be one less unclean thing for me to kill. One less unclean thing that doesn't belong here. And I will be just that much closer to feeling...better.
 
I remember

There were times when the silence was comfortable. It didn't feel like razor blades on flesh. It didn't make me worry that I might say the wrong thing. It didn't force me to decide if I should say the next thing, if I should pray to make it through the night without an argument. If I should just withdraw.

Before~ when the silence just meant we were happy in one another's company. Words were something for other people. We didn't require them. They just cluttered up the air, filled the spaces between happy and content.

Before~ when the touch of your hand on mine meant all was right in my world. When the sound of your voice in my ear meant that I was loved, cared for, special. When I didn't feel like an empty baggage, faking for the general population.

Before~ when we meshed.

I remember those times.

I used to miss them. I used to miss US. Now? I just remember and wonder what the hell went wrong.
 
Flex

We had a moment, just one
when everything aligned perfectly

A time when things fit, well
Like coming home, like breathing

There was time, not long past
when all that we needed

All that we wanted, required
Was found in the arms, eyes, hearts

Of one another.

I think that time has passed.
I think we are all done.

Flex, flux, fuck, stuck.
This rut.

 
Home. A wolf wanders in. Wall sconces are lit. A cross is found. A spanking bench. A pearl handled razor. A selection of crops and floggers and other stingy, thuddy things.

Today I have plans.
Today there is a southern girl coming to be put through her paces.
I hope she is prepared.
 
As if by a whirl and a rush and some kind of personal tornado I come to a spirally kind of halt. Thudding on my ass, having lost my balance like I'm so prone to. I take in the scene around me but I catch sight of Luna and I just stop. Like any new Dominant I sit quietly and wait to be spoken to.
 
I like your color better

I turn and see her there. Still in her shorts and tee, her cowboy boots. Her hair a mess. Tossed willy nilly from the cyclone that brought her to me, in my place.

"Hello pretty. Remove your boots. Leave the rest of your clothing on, I have plans for removal a bit later. Step to the center of the room. Up on your tip toes, legs shoulder width apart, hands reaching toward the ceiling."

The words come quickly. I turn away again, gathering up the first few toys for this exercise. After all, I did warn her. Others write for her, they scene for her. I scene for myself. She is just the canvas am working with today.

A bowl of ice appears on a stand. Just to the left of where she is poised. With a black riding crop and a tiny whartenberg wheel, I make my way over. The wheel goes in the bowl of ice, the crop gets placed on the stand. I turn and study her.
 
My thin cotton t-shirt barely connects to the hem of my shorts, with my arms high over my head. The boots sit against the wall and I hold my hands together straight over my head with elbows slightly bent. Standing up on my tip toes and realizing in the back of my mind, 'God, I'm so short.' My eyes are down on the floor and my mouth is closed. I was warned to be silent, so I just keep quiet and comply.
 
I study her for another long moment before striding over and kicking her legs just a bit further apart. From the ceiling? Two sets of chains descend, ending in steel cuffs. I attach those, making sure they fit snugly. A long, black spreader bar appears just before her. I attach that to her ankles and place small thumb tacks beneath each one of her heels.

If she comes down from tip toe? It will hurt.

Finally, I rise and look into her eyes.


"There are thumb tacks beneath each foot. Stay on your toes or you will get hurt. If you get uncomfortable, say yellow. If you need to stop, say rhino. Nod if you understand."
 
I nod, hoping to never need those words. It'd be upsetting for me to be anything short of spectacular. For a sub, I'm an alpha sub. My competitive edge and my anxiety have my skin alive and every movement is jerky and charged. I contemplate the tacks under my feet. Yes, I've found a few the hard way. So the rules are simple. Yellow for slow down, Rhino for stop, don't talk or scream, hands up, on my toes.
 
Now I can begin.

Small hand lifts the crop, giving a few swings to get the heft of it. This particular crop is just a bit longer and heavier than those one finds in the shops. It is a crop used for a horse, so the flat is a bit larger, the handle a bit more swishy.

Without warning, hand flies out and smacks her shin. The slap of sound echoes around the cavern, bouncing from the walls and ceiling. I can feel the smile starting. Another swing, another crack of sound, another red, rectangular square showing where my toy lands.

I don't build slowly. No point in it. This one seems to be focused on giving me what I need...and what I need is pale flesh mottled red...with pin pricks and lash marks and other fun things.


"Count for me."

I go back and forth, from leg to leg, landing the strikes with precision, so that little marks climb from shin to mid thigh on each leg. The counting is to be sure she is paying attention.
 
"One!... Two!.... Th-three!..."

Trying so hard not to scream. I've been hit with those before, in the barn. My brother thought it was funny, but on the side of a six year old's ribs it was brutal. I can see Luna's smile and beneath the bravado she's honestly enjoying this. Well I cannot disappoint so I keep counting. Every few numbers I stutter and there's a hint of a yelp in each one.

"Five!....Six!... SeVEN!....
 
I stop when we reach thirty. The front of her legs are covered in fading red marks and my skin is starting to get damp from the swinging.

I love that.

I drop the crop and reach for an ice cube. Kneeling before the girl, I trace the cold slickness over every, single mark. She has done very well, especially for someone who has never really played with me before.


"Very good."

I stand up and shake the last vestiges of cold water from my fingertips before I snatch the silvery looking wheel from the bowl of ice. Then, I move behind her and kneel once more.

The wheel begins to trace her calf. I press firmly, so that little red pin pricks mark the flesh. Up and up, until I reach the hem of her shorts. Then down on the other side.

When I finish. I toss the wheel away...and remove the thumb tacks.


"Off your tip toes, pretty. Flat footed, now."

Sound less steps carry me to my toy box. Slim fingers find and remove a small anal plug, a rather large remote controlled egg, and my razor. I return to my spot before her.

"Eyes on me, please. I want you to watch."

The egg and anal plug go in the bowl of ice. The razor blade is opened with a small snick of sound.

"Time to lose the clothes."
 
I never scream, or shout, or moan. However the way I take in and let breath out makes it very clear how my body is reacting. My legs feel like they'd be better set on fire when Luna drops the crop and rubs them with ice. It's soothing on the welts yet freezing when the water trails over the untouched flesh. Then this wheel goes up and down my legs. It's like needles barely poking through and I try not to pull away. I've never played with it before but I kinda like it. I ease my feet down, hoping the tacks will only hurt a little. For some reason they're gone, must've done good for myself. Next I see the toys fall into the ice bowl and the razor come out. I stare so hard I'm almost cross eyed and I gulp a thick throat full.
 
I see her face, the look of...fear... that comes and goes. I won't cut her...but the clothing is in my way...and has got to go. WIth no more words, I step forward and apply the razor, turning it so that the sharp is facing away from her skin. It parts cloth easily and after only a few minutes the shorts are gone, cut away.

Panties too.

Then up. The razor starts at the hem of her tee shirt and cuts upward towards her face. I stop when I reach that spot just between her breasts and re-position the blade, so that it comes from the neckline down. The bra is the last piece to get cut. The cloth that holds the cups in place lost by the quick motion of steel on cotton.


"Much better."

Slim fingers undo the cuffs that hold her upright and I check each wrist to make sure there are no abrasions before I turn her about and point toward the spanking bench.

"Hobble your sexy ass over to that. Lean across it, hands gripping the legs. I want your ass high."
 
Can she see how soaked my panties are? God I hope so. Receiving my commands, waddling like some bondage penguin with the spreader bar forcing my legs wide. I finally make and I lay across the bench. It presses into my tummy and I lean down and grab a hold of my shackled ankles. I can hear Luna behind me, sadly my position leaves me unable to see so I rely on sounds. What about touch? Oh my...
 
She is a dripping mess but it doesn't matter. Good thing I took the panties when I did though, as the way she positions herself means that I won't have to contend with them when I get to her.

The razor gets tossed and the two toys are picked up and carried over to the spanking bench and the girl laying across it.


"My, my. You are a horny little thing, aren't you? No worries. I have something to ease that issue for you."

The anal plug is lubed up and pressed into the tight brown hole. There is a bit of resistance, but I chose the smallest one for that very reason. Next is the egg~smooth and oddly shaped. I spread her pussy lips open and seat that toy deep within, flicking the remote button so that it vibrates on low.

"Now, you hold very still. No rubbing yourself against my bench."

Hand grips hair and jerks head up, hard. I lean down so that I can see her face.

"Do we have an understanding?"
 
I try to nod my head, but it tears at the hair in my scalp. Yes, I understand. The low vibrations are unlike anything I've tried before. It's a lot like a vibrator, but with the plug it's like a vibrating DP and I'm sure I'm actually dripping onto the bench. I try to hold still but it's so much to hold still. My ass flexes around the plug, I love anal play and I'm glad Luna does too. I try to keep silent but my expressive breathing keeps giving me away.
 
She attempts to nod and that is good enough for me. I release her hair with a sigh and move to pick up my flogger. However, first I have to finish removing her tee and bra.

Strong hands grab the hem and rip, upwards. The tee shirt parts with a long scritch of sound. Slim fingers unhook the bra and the whole kit and caboodle falls away. Now, she is fully nude.

The flogger is black and red suede, about thirty tails, some knotted, some not. I swish it through the air, snapping it lightly so that I can get the proper wrist motion. Once I feel confidant in my control? I let fly.

I start at the bottom of her ass and work my way up. I begin lightly but by the time I reach the top of her ass I am landing blows heavy enough to push her pubis into the top of the spanking bench.

I stop for a moment. Picking up the remote that controls the toy deep within her cunt, I toggle the switch to high and begin again. Shoulders now. Then back. Now ass. Then back. The backs of her thighs. Ass.

I don't have a rhythm.

Some strikes are light. Some heavy.

I don't plan for where I hit or how hard, only varying each one to watch her flinch, jerk. I want to make her whimper.
 
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