Sunday, August 28, 2011

Rope, Part Two

Read Rope, Part One here:
We drove for quite a distance, over some smooth roads, but also a few rocky ones.  The ropes that surrounded me did almost nothing to support my breasts, which jiggled with every bump.  I knew my back, and probably my butt, was getting bruised, thanks to the vans lacklustre suspension, and the board’s lack of any cushion.  It did have a coat of varnish on it, so at least there were no splinters, but it still forced me to brace myself constantly, as I never knew what would rock the van next.

My head and neck were still free, and if I had stretched myself I probably could have propped myself up to a seated position, with my legs spread wide. But I knew that would be pointless, and probably seen as a gesture of disobedience, one to be punished severely later.

I did crane my neck to look around, when my eyes got tired of the unblinking stare of the van’s yellow dome light.  Although the back of the van was windowless, I could see that it was still light outside.  Although I lost all track of time as I felt every jolt and bump in the road, I did see that it was getting dimmer and eventually, the driver’s dashboard lit up as he turned on the headlights.

“She is a knockout,” the woman said, breaking the silence.  She reached down and grabbed my left nipple and pulled.  She raised my C-cup breast as far as she could until I finally winced my face and then she let go, which made me sigh in relief.  “Honey, what kind of skin is this?” she said, genuinely curious.  “You have quite the tan.”

“I’m half-Indian and half-white,” I said.

“Well, the mix is appreciated, you have fine breeding, even if you are a tad on the old side.”  The woman looked to be in her late twenties, and I did have to admit that at thirty-six, my age was showing a little.  I nodded, long ago learning that reacting to such bluntness was a mortal sin for the Willow.  This younger woman would always be my superior in the Willow, and the hurt feelings of a submissive were of no concern for her. This would be true for as long as I was a member.  “So what happened?” she asked.  “If you can’t keep a man happy with this body, there’s no hope for anyone over 35.”

“I am divorced,” I volunteered.  My career had always come first in my marriage, and for us children were out of the picture.  In our twenties, childless had meant so much freedom, but by our thirties, my husband had changed.  My mother had said his “biological imperative” set in, and he wasn’t mature enough to know what to do with it.  He would go on to father a child, and while our divorce was final only nine months ago, his child was now a year and a half.  I spared the woman before be the gory details of my marriage.  “It didn’t work out,” I said vaguely.

“Well, you can think of this as a marriage of sorts, one that will most certainly work out for you.  And you’ll get quite the workout tonight.” she winked and giggled at her little pun.

The car stopped, and the driver got out of the car, and opened the back.  This is the first time I had seen the driver and saw that he was a tall African man, must have been at least 6”7’, and looked no older than twenty-five.  He had a completely bald head, and wore a formal business suit with a completely black tie.  The man who had doused my dress with lighter fluid jumped out and the two of them grabbed hold of the base of the board I was strapped to.  There were leather straps underneath, and they pulled the board out, so my body was about halfway out.  They paused to allow the woman and her boyfriend to grab the leather straps on the other corners of the board, and then eased the whole piece out of the van carefully.

The cool night air travelled up and down my entire exposed body, and I instinctively thought to myself that I should have worn a jacket.  I then immediately admonished myself for thinking such a silly thought, and that my comfort was not to be a priority this night, or any other night hereafter.  It was a lesson I would know that I would have to force myself to learn and relearn many times in the years to come.  

I still had no idea where I was, but I did see quite a number of stars, although the night was young, and heard the chirping of crickets and splashing of water in the distance.  In my field of vision there was also a tree, and I could not hear the familiar rumble of any freeway, so I deduced that I was most likely somewhere in the countryside.

The men at my feet, even the one that had ogled me in the van, no longer looked at me as an object of affection, or even something they wanted to fuck.  No, I was now a bit of a problem for them now, as I was helplessly attached to my board, and the four of them would have to carry me somewhere.  “Just to the dock, right?” the man asked.

I turned my head and saw that sure enough, a dock was just ten feet away.  My heart quickened a little as I realized that this dock was not for large boats or even small ferries, but simply for small canoes and little motorboats.  I was a little unsure if they were just going to drop me in the water and see if I floated.  I started breathing harder as we got to the water, terrified of what they may do, but I then retreated back to my training.  Rule #1: The Willow thinks of everything.  I had already decided to lay my life in the hands of the Willow, and these strangers, these were just the consequences of that decision.

As we got to the ramp where canoes would launch from, my board was raised a bit higher, and then set down again, on something inflatable.  I could feel and hear the rubber, and realized my board had rested on an inflatable raft.  My mind then raced at the implication of this, I would be floating tonight, floating down the river, all tied up, for everyone looking to see.  The cover of night would give some measure of modesty, but I was to be set adrift down a river, with no control, no way to steer and no idea of where I was or where I was going.  

All the scenarios of what would happen seemed to form inside my head all at once.  In one, I would get stuck on the side of the river, to be found by hikers taking an evening stroll.  In another, the inflatable raft would graze against a branch, spring a leak, and I would gradually start to sink, helplessly slipping feet first into the icy water. In yet another scenario, I’d go down the wrong fork in a river, take some rides on some rapids and survive, only to be discovered by a family of bears.  These worst case scenarios did terrify me to my core, thinking that this would be the last night of my life, but I soon realized that even these incredibly scary thoughts were not enough to force me to even sit up, or give any sign of protest.  The risk was well worth it, for acceptance into the Willow.

A little cold water was literally splashed across my face, jolting me out of these nightmare scenarios.  A canoe was not resting along side my boat, and I could see that preparations were being made.  So, thankfully, I would not be set adrift, but towed like a tugboat pulling a barge.  The rower of this barge was yet another man, an old grizzled man who looked like a prospector.  He held an old style camping  lantern over my body, getting a good look.

“Wow, that’s quite a nice rope job, she did this herself?” he asked the black man.  

“Yes,” he responded.  “Well, we didn’t do it.”

“And she didn’t give you lip on the way here?”

“Not much,” he responded.  “I think she was a little surprised that we took her car and purse.”

Shit, I thought I had gotten away with that one.  The two continued to talk about my trip over me, like I wasn’t even there or conscious.  The old man asked again, just to confirm, if the others in the van had taken any liberties with me, acts that I would never admit to.

“I was there the whole time, nothing happened, you can check her cunt too.”

“Later, all in good time,” the old man said, climbing into his canoe.  “Off we go,” he proclaimed, using his oar to push his canoe from the ramp and into the water.  I felt the tug of the rope which tethered my raft to his by the end where my head was, and we were off.

He rowed quickly, to get to the normal current, which were nothing rapid at all.  In his rowing, he inevitably scooped up some water and splashed my face.  It only happened about seven times, which led me to believe that each time it had happened, it was done partly on purpose.  I gasped the first time, but made sure not to protest each additional time it happened.  I also kept my wrists perfectly still.

He stopped rowing a bit as we entered the main current, and I relaxed, as much as I could.  The night sky was quite peaceful, and although I was more exposed than I had ever been in my life, I felt safe.  “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he said, breaking the silence.  His oar continued to be in the water, but it was more for steering now, rather than speed.  “You can talk, you know, we have about fifteen minutes before we get there.”

“I have not been asked any question yet,” I asserted.  My training over the last few months had conditioned me never to contribute too much to a conversation, and speak only when spoken to.
“All right,” he started.  “What’s your name, honey?”

I swallowed hard and smiled.  “I have no name,” I responded.

“Hot damn,” he said, “you’re really all in, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, “I intend to become part of the Weeping Willow.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have no problems, if you keep doing what you’re doing.  But really, you really don’t want your name anymore?”

“I will keep it as it suits me in my real life,” I said. “But my identity to the Weeping Willow will be the only one that counts.”

“You know, last time I did this, we had a woman that was quite the talker.  I think it was a bit too much for her, not prepared at all.  You know what I did with her?”

“No,” I responded.

“I cut the bitch loose,” he giggled at the thought.  “You should have seen it, I beached the canoe on the side of the river there, untied the straps and said ‘You’re done.’  She ran into those woods, never knew what came of her.”

I had no way of knowing if his story was real, or some ghost story to spook me.  I gave no response except, “I guess I won’t see her tonight.”  

After a few more minutes, we floated into a more deep part of the woods. I could tell that the stars were being obscured more by trees, until I couldn’t see them at all.  We floated effortlessly into an area, shrouded my falling branches, and of course, a giant willow tree which grew up out of the shallow water.  Its tendrils graced over my exposed body, touching me softly.

“We’re here,” the old man said.  He expertly guided the boat so that we were parallel to the shore and then pushed us to a post.  There was a country house in the distance, and four Willow members came out to bring me inside.  Again, they looked at me as a chore, bringing me into the main dining hall, as if I were the main course.  

My board was placed on an incline, so that I could see the entire hall, in which a long table with lots of fine food was laid out.  Each member of the Weeping Willow was there, seated according to their respective leadership roles.  In the middle were the Master and Mistress of the Weeping Willow, and to their sides were men and women dining on the fine food. I scanned the room and saw that over two dozen people were seated, and immediately recognized them all to be dominants or dominatrices.  I thought it to be quite unusual for me to be the only submissive in attendance, but I knew better than to question.
It was at that moment, I saw them.  The table cloth had obscured them, but I noticed a string of feet lined up perfectly, the soles of their feet facing me, which meant they were all kneeling, facing their own masters or mistresses.  Each slave was under the table, either giving pleasure to them orally, or begging for a bite of the fine food that their superiors were feasting on.

Finally, the Master and Mistress acknowledged my presence and I swallowed hard for my final test.  “Welcome, slut.”  The Master rose from the table and walked to where my board was propped up.  The Mistress met him on the other side of me and I looked down dutifully.  I was too close to be caught on a technicality now.

“So, I hear that you are interested in being part of our little social club,” the Master started.  “Tell me, who brought you here, slut.”

“The Mistress known as Vicky,” I said nervously.

“And what were you doing when Vicky first met you?”

“I was shopping, Sir, in a supermarket.”

“And what were you buying?  How did she strike up the conversation?”

I felt ashamed, but I continued.  “I was buying frozen food, dinner for ones, that kind of thing.”

“And why were you buying these pathetic meals?”  the Mistress asked.

I swallowed hard.  “I was alone at the time.  All alone, I had not been on a real date in months.  Vicky saved me from all of that, and for that, I am very grateful to her.”

The Master called Vicky over and she quickly obeyed. She was wearing a long flowing gown, that was quite elegant on her, and I smiled as she approached.  “So this is what you want now?”  the Mistress asked.  She cupped Vicky’s breasts from behind her, and gave her a kiss on the neck.  I stared as Vicky relented and started to kiss her back.  I stood in shock, but I knew this was all part of the process.  Vicky introduced me into the Willow, but she was just a bridge from the vanilla world.  I would have to burn that bridge if I was to continue.

“Answer, slut,” the Master said impatiently.  “Is Vicky the one woman that you want?  Is she what you want for the rest of your life?  Were you always a lesbian like that?”

I knew the Master knew the answers to all these questions, but I continued.  “No,” I said on the verge of tears. “I’m not a lesbian, I just felt an urge to please her.  I don’t want to just please one man or woman anymore.  That part of my life is over.”

“So, you have had sex with Vicky?” the master asked.
“Yes,” I said.  “But that was the last time.  Vicky took me to her place, and had me please her orally, and then she took me to her bedroom and we,” I stopped, making sure what I was about to say was correct.  “We made love,” I confessed.

“Oh,” the Master said.  “So, why did you not continue with that relationship?”

“Vicky gave me the choice,” I said.  “She said either a lifetime with her, or a lifetime in the Willow, not both.”

The Mistress turned Vicky around and pawed her even more forcefully.  She kissed down her neck to her breasts, and started tearing at the clothing.  Vicky’s hands were also exploring the Mistress and the two sank into a make out session on the floor.  Soon, Vicky’s top was off and the Mistress was stepping out of her dress.  “In the words of the slut over there,” the Mistress said, “make love to me, Vicky.”

Vicky smiled broadly. Although she was already a member, having one-on-one sex with the Mistress was a special treat.  “YES!” she exclaimed.  Attacking, the breasts of the Mistress, sucking on the nipples.  The Mistress pulled her from her tits for a second to ask one final question.  “Wait,” she said, “you’ll make love to me in front of her?”

“Of course,” Vicky said.  She turned to me and looked deep into my eyes, to make sure I heard her words exactly.  “She’s just a slut, and meant nothing.  My love for you Mistress is pure, always has been and always will be.”

Vicky quickly tore off what remained of her clothes and embraced the nude Mistress.  They kissed and fondled each other as lovers would, and would bring each other to multiple orgasms in front of me, and the entire assembled hall.  As this lewd show went on, the Master asked.  “So what do you choose, slut?”

This was the question, the moment of truth.  All that had happened to me, from the supermarket, to that magical night with Vicky, to the morning after, to the months of training, to the ropes, to the van, to the raft, to here.  It all meant nothing if I did not take the one final step and declaration. “I choose the Willow!” I exclaimed.  

I knew that these words were the cue for all the dominants and their slaves to rise from there places.  Almost fifty men and women surrounded me, and the men were already fondling themselves, or having their slaves do it for them, to get them ready. They formed a line, nice and orderly, with the Master at the lead.  To the side the Mistress and Vicky were still writhing in passion.

“When you choose the Willow,” the Master said, “you choose all of us.”  The Master then dropped his pants to reveal a large eight inch erection.  It already had a droplet of precum on the head, and I knew it was his right to fuck me first.  “Yes, Master,” I consented.
He eased himself inside me, filling my pussy with a sensation that had not been felt in so long.  Although my night with Vicky was fantastic, there was still nothing like a good hard dick, filling me deep.  I knew that my life with Vicky would always be wanting more, and Vicky knew that my role here, in the Willow, would be far superior that what she could provide.

I panted as the Master finished inside me, and I felt his warm sperm fill me up.  As he stepped back, I felt empty, and was eager for the next one in line.  My face had a content smile on it, like I was high on some sort of drug.  He released the leather straps and I stepped off the board, the line of eager dominants and slaves forming a circle around me.

“Slut,” the Master said. “You just received my cum.  How much more do you want from all of these fine people?”

The answer to this question was easy, and laid out explicitlly in the training.  It had been repeated over and over by countless other submissives I had seen, and I smiled broadly as it was my turn to say it.

“All of it!” I yelled, and the crowd descended upon me.

Read part three, now available:

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