The Dark Woods & Other Bondage Stories

by S. J. Lewis

  Corliss felt her defenses crumbling, bit by bit as her body became aroused. Jill never completely broke their physical contact. Some part of her body was always rubbing or pressing up against some part of Corliss’. Jill’s hands were always busy, stroking, squeezing, caressing or even pinching. She kept sprinkling little bits of pain or discomfort among the pleasures she was inflicting, so that Corliss never knew what was coming next. It kept her on edge, and somehow made what Jill was doing all the more effective. Corliss was still shivering, but not from cold any more. She writhed in her bonds, no longer quite aware of what she was doing, and beyond caring about how it looked or if anyone was recording it.

  “That’s it,” Jill huffed into her ear, the warmth of her breath tickling Corliss’ neck maddeningly. “That’s it, honey, you’re doing fine. Just let go now. Just let go. Don’t you worry about a thing.” Then, for the first time, she slid a hand between Corliss’ legs, her fingers parting the swollen, sensitive lips and sliding easily up inside of her.

  Corliss groaned, arching her back. Her head dropped back so that she was looking up at the crossbeam that she was bound to, but she no longer could see anything. Jill’s fingers were probing and pressing, rubbing and tantalizing, making wet little noises. Corliss could smell her own musk now, and she knew that she couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer. She didn’t want to delay it. Jill had kept her so worked up, so aroused, for so long, that Corliss wanted the oncoming orgasm more than she could recall wanting anything before. She heard a woman’s voice, high-pitched and desperate, saying: “Oh, yes! Oh, yes!” over and over again. It sounded something like her voice.

  When it hit, Corliss jerked violently in her bonds, squealing and shrieking as Jill gave her no respite. A second violent tremor followed the first almost immediately as Jill just kept…doing whatever she was doing. Corliss shook and shrieked at the sheer intensity of the sensations Jill was inflicting on her. It was torture, but it was sweet torture and Corliss forgot everything but the pleasure being inflicted on her. She opened her mouth and howled up at the sky.

  “There, now,” Jill chuckled. She wiped her fingers off across Corliss’ belly before taking the other woman’s head in her hands and kissing her soundly. “That wasn’t bad at all, was it?”

  Hanging limply from the ropes, all Corliss could do was gasp and sob. Her legs were trembling, too weak to support her, and every square inch of her body felt as if it was aflame. That feeling was dwindling, but not quickly.

  Jill stepped away and the tall man stood in front of Corliss again. He gripped her by her hair so that she had to look at him. She was having trouble focusing her eyes.

  “Listen up, blondie,” he said, giving her head a shake. “We have a pretty good little thing going on here. People get together to share and act out their fantasies. We don’t bother anybody, but for some reason some assholes just can’t let us be. Every so often somebody comes sneaking around, so we have to protect ourselves, and teach them not to do that again. You understand so far?”

  Corliss gulped, scrabbling to get her feet somewhere back under her so she could take some of the weight off of her wrists. “Yes,” she whimpered.

  “Good. Now, we’ve got recordings of you, not just with Jill, but earlier when you were sucking cock like you were starving for it. Pretty good performances on your part, I gotta say.”

  Was it possible to blush all over? Corliss felt as if she was. “So…” she licked her lips. “You’re going to blackmail me?”

  “In a way,” the tall man nodded. “We’re gonna let you and your friend go, but not until morning. We recorded her, too, but she wasn’t half as interesting as you were. So long as you don’t make any trouble for us, nobody else will ever see any of it. But you know what will happen if you start talking about this place, don’t you? You’ll be an internet sensation, blondie.”

  Corliss tried to nod, but he was gripping her hair too tight. “But if you already have the recordings, why don’t you just let us go now?” she asked. The tall man laughed.

  “Sure, we got those,” he said. “But we also got your cute little asses here and you’re pretty well broken in now, so we’re keeping you for a little party tonight.” He patted her hip, and Corliss flinched.

  ***

  It was fully night now. Corliss lay on her side in a patch of long grass, trying to feel the warmth of the bonfire. She was as close to it as she could get, but at that distance the heat was feeble, almost imaginary. There was an old dog collar buckled and padlocked around her neck. A length of heavy chain connected the collar to a metal stake driven deep into the ground about six feet away from where she lay. The grass grew in a cleared space at one end of the camp, so she could look up and see the stars.

  She was still naked, but she wasn’t handcuffed, or tied. The rules had been carefully explained to her by the tall man while her blonde curls were clipped short by Jill. She could move around all she wanted, but only on her hands and knees. She was allowed to sit or lie down as she chose, but she wasn’t allowed to stand up or speak to anyone.

  Fifteen feet or so away, she could see Amy, also lying on her side, facing away from her. Amy’s hair had been clipped short too. It no longer fell to her shoulders, but it didn’t look too bad, at least not at that distance. Amy barely moved. She’d made no attempt to communicate with Corliss, so she’d probably been given the same rules. Maybe they’d told her a bit more than that, because she wouldn’t even look in Corliss’ direction.

  Much closer to the fire, eight or nine men…individuals kept coming and going, so the number varied…sat or stood around, drinking beer, eating what smelled like fried chicken and talking in low voices. Every so often, one of them would take a turn at Jill, who was tied up much closer to the fire. She didn’t seem to be tethered to anything, but it was hard to tell because Jill was backlit by the fire and there were too many flickering shadows. Corliss had seen enough earlier to know that Jill’s arms were tied behind her at the wrists and elbows. She had also seen and heard enough to assume that Jill liked it rough. One of the men was fucking her right now, an act accompanied by a lot of grunts from both Jill and the man and regular hard slaps on Jill’s muscular ass that made her yelp and Corliss wince.

  One of the men at the fire detached himself from the group and began walking over towards Corliss. He was carrying a can in one hand and a white paper bag in the other, but it wasn’t until he was much closer that she recognized him as Goatee. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs protectively. Since they’d let her down from the log framework nobody had done more than fondle her, but she was pretty certain that Goatee wasn’t coming over just to talk.

  He sat down beside her, landing on her chain so that she couldn’t pull away from him.

  “Hungry?” he asked. He held out the white paper bag. Grease had soaked through the bottom half of it, and Corliss could smell fried chicken. She was very hungry, but she made no move to accept the bag.

  “Go on,” he urged. “Take it.”

  She snatched the bag out of his hands and tore it open. There were two drumsticks inside. She seized one and began to eat, huddling over the food. The chicken tasted like it came from a local restaurant she’d had dinner at just two days ago. In moments, she’d eaten every scrap of meat on both drumsticks. She licked her fingers, still hungry.

  Beside her, Goatee popped the top of the can and offered it to her. “Thirsty?”

  She took the can more gracefully than she’d taken the bag of chicken and sipped at it. It was beer: Bland and generic beer, but at least it was cold. She drank greedily, trying not to think about what would happen once she’d drunk it all. She drained the last cold drop. Goatee took the can from her and tossed it away. Then he crumpled up the torn paper bag and tossed it after the can.

  Corliss regarded him warily. There was a hungry look in his eyes as he leaned towards her. She shuddered as he reached out and pulled her towards him, his hands roaming all over her body. She was trembling uncontrollably.
What did he want? A blow job? She didn’t think she could do that.

  He shifted off of her chain and drew her across his lap, face down. His hands slid up and down along her back, her ass, her thighs, like he was taking possession of her. His hands were rough, but his caresses were gentle. Corliss trembled again, not completely out of fear now, and the warmth of his body felt good in the cool night air. She made no attempt to stop him. It would be pointless. What was the old saying about lying back and enjoying it?

  He gripped her hair and made her get up on her hands and knees. He knelt alongside of her, holding her still with one hand while his other hand reached under her to fondle her breasts and belly. Then he pulled her hair, bringing her up on her knees and he took her nipple in his mouth. Corliss shuddered. She was naked and tethered in this camp full of rough men, far from home or help. His mouth moved to her other nipple, and Corliss moaned.

  He kept teasing her, readying her, and he seemed to know what he was doing. What scant resolve to resist, or at worst endure she had left dissolved under the ministrations of his hands and his mouth and his tongue. She was acutely aware of his size and his strength, and maybe the beer on top of an almost-empty stomach helped, but soon Corliss was huffing and panting and moaning, ready and eager to be fucked instead of merely resigned to it. The men at the bonfire might be watching. She didn’t care. They’d already seen her like this. Amy might be watching. If she was, let her eat her heart out.

  He put her back on her hands and knees again and got behind her, pushing her legs further apart. Corliss moaned again and arched her back for him. Tethered like an animal, she was about to be taken like an animal. The notion hit her like a lightning bolt, and her moan turned into a whine of impatience. She spread her legs even further apart as Goatee fumbled with his jeans and let her head droop. It was a submissive pose, she knew, but now she wanted to submit. She felt him run his hand between her legs, checking to see how ready she was. She heard him chuckle as he found out, felt him wipe his fingers across the small of her back. She whined again, wriggling her ass. She felt his hands, big and rough and strong, grip her hips, and then he rammed his cock all the way into her pussy in one powerful thrust.

  Corliss squealed wildly and dropped down onto her elbows. She kept squealing and moaning as he plowed into her again and again, hard and fast and hungrily. After a little while, he gripped her hair again, pulling her back up onto her hands and back onto his cock. He kept pulling her head back until her back was painfully arched and her neck was painfully stretched and she was looking up at the black night sky. There was a crescent Moon just visible above the treetops. Corliss barely noticed it. Her whole world had narrowed down to the wild, savage, primal fucking she was getting from behind. She closed her eyes and howled, no longer caring what anyone else here saw or heard or thought. They would let her go in the morning…and she knew that one day, perhaps soon, she would come back.

  The Dark Woods – Chapter Five

  The old bus bounced and swayed and creaked along the country road. The road was even older than the bus. In places it had been worn down below the ground level. It might be just wide enough for two vehicles going in opposite directions to slip past each other if both drivers were going slowly and carefully. The bus driver was doing neither. Corliss could see that he was taking his half of the road right out of the middle. She hoped that there weren’t any vehicles coming the other way. That would bring her vacation to a very abrupt end.

  She tried to relax. It wasn’t possible. She had too much on her mind aside from the bus driver’s casual attitude towards safe driving. Every so often she caught sight of her reflection in the window, and her face looked like a stranger’s. She seemed too pale. Her eyes looked haunted. Maybe it was a trick of the sunlight and the not-so-clean state of the glass, but it accurately reflected how she felt, if not how she looked.

  It felt like her body was running on automatic, inexorably heading to a very specific place while all her mind could do was go along for the ride, screaming like a terrified passenger on a roller coaster…or on this bus ride. Whenever she took the time to think about what she was doing, a part of her…probably the sane part…wanted to call it off. There was still time. It wouldn’t be easy getting back home from way out here, but it could be done. The problem was that she knew if she bailed out this time she’d never find it in her to try again, even if they would let her. She supposed that a virgin skydiver might feel the same way, looking at all that nothing between her and the ground far below.

  And then she would remember that incredible rush she got, the intoxicating thrill, honed razor-sharp by her underlying fear. The memory would make her shiver. She would feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and the curious warm but unsettled feeling in her belly. Then she forgot all about the bus, the scenery whipping by, and the odd assortment of other passengers sharing this wild ride with her.

  She smiled to herself. Given what she was headed towards, why should the bus driver’s daredevil driving bother her at all? She tried to relax. She couldn’t.

  The bus rattled to a halt in a cloud of dust, brakes squealing, gravel rattling against the undercarriage.

  “Parker’s Store!” the driver announced cheerfully as he opened the passenger door. Maybe he sounded cheerful because he’d defied death yet again. At first glance, Parker’s Store didn’t look like much. It was a rickety, rambling one-story structure with a red-painted, much-patched tin roof and walls of worn and weather-beaten planking. The sign on the roof of the main part tilted ominously forward. It was just possible to read the faded lettering on it: ‘Parker’s Store and Gas Station’. This was her stop. Corliss stood up and shouldered her duffel bag. It wasn’t very heavy. All she had in it was a single change of clothes and underwear and some toiletries, and she didn’t expect to need them for some time. She noticed someone else debarking the bus ahead of her, a small woman with glossy, waist-length black hair. She’d already gotten up so Corliss only had a view of her back. When had she boarded this rolling deathtrap? Probably when Corliss had been dozing earlier. She wasn’t carrying any luggage, so maybe she was a local. But the she saw the bus driver, a heavyset man with thinning gray hair and a luxurious handlebar mustache, get off right behind the dark-haired woman.

  Corliss made her way to the exit, taking care not to bump anyone with her bag. The other passengers, even the little old lady who somehow was able to knit while the bus was careening all over the road, were a hard-looking bunch, and Corliss didn’t want to make any trouble.

  Her legs felt a little cramped after the long ride. She looked at her watch as she stepped down from the bus. The trip had taken four and a half hours. Time wise, it was longer than the plane ride that had started her trip, though to be fair the bus ride had involved more stops. The last step off of the bus was a little bit longer than she’d been expected. She came down with a jolt and looked around. The bus driver had just taken an overnight case from the luggage compartment and put it on the ground near the small black-haired woman, who turned to look at Corliss.

  Corliss was surprised to see that the other woman was Asian: Probably Japanese, if she had to guess. She looked very neat and trim in her blue shirt and snug, faded jeans. Corliss thought she’d look even better in a kimono. Her hair was cut in bangs that reached to her eyebrows. She had a pretty face. Her mouth wasn’t very wide, but her lips were full. It almost made her look like she was pouting, or puckering up for a kiss. The two women looked at each other for a long moment but didn’t say anything. The bus driver thanked them for riding with him and got back into the driver’s seat. He honked the horn once as the door hissed shut. The bus started up with a groaning of abused gears and pulled away in a cloud of diesel exhaust liberally mixed with dust.

  The dust settled and the fumes dissipated. Corliss and the other woman kept looking at each other. Neither seemed to want to be the first to introduce herself. It grew quiet. There was no sound of traffic up here in the hills, only bird songs and a stray br
eeze ruffling the trees as it passed by.

  “Ladies! Glad y’all could make it!” Both women turned towards the sound of the voice. A man was coming towards them. He had a thick mop of brown hair and wore a big smile to go with his overalls, grease-stained checked shirt and big, heavy boots. He looked to be in his forties.

  “Jus’ the two of ya, hey?” he observed. “Wonder why the other backed out? No matter,” he shrugged. He had big hands, big arms and big shoulders. “Guess you’re Mana, right?” he nodded towards the Asian woman, who simply nodded back. He looked at Corliss. “So you gotta be either Jeannie or Corliss. But Ah heard that Jeannie’s got light brown hair, so you’re Corliss.” He laughed. It took Corliss a moment to realize he’d made a joke of sorts.

  “I’m Corliss,” she nodded.

  “Pleased to meet’cha both,” he smiled. Corliss noted that he had all his teeth, even if they were stained tea-brown. “Ah’m Parker. Well, one o’ the Parkers anyways. Ah’m the mechanic here. Y’all wanna follow me and we’ll getcha started?” He turned away and went back into the garage part of the rambling structure through an open bay door. Corliss and Mana looked at each other before following after him.

  Corliss was expecting something out of a hillbilly horror movie, with trash and rusty car parts all over the place, and maybe even some pickled animals in jars, but once she was inside the garage looked no different than any repair shop she’d seen in the suburbs. There wasn’t as much high-tech stuff, but neither of the cars in for servicing looked like they had any need for high-tech. One was an old pickup with running boards, its hood propped up. As she passed by it, Corliss saw that the top half of the engine had been removed. Over in the far bay was an ancient black Lincoln.