The Ladder

Her lungs were bursting for the last mile. Her chest heaved and her legs shook from the combination of altitude change and exertion. "How romantic is this?" She sighed as she continued the steady pace to the cabin. Her hair had started the day braided and smooth; however the climb had made it loose and unruly. The cold wind had burned her cheeks, turning her face blush.

He climbed behind her. The speed did not hinder him from taking in the majesty of the view, both the views of the trail and of her ahead of him. He was glad for the quiet and peace. They were on the trail together, yet very apart. It was a bit of serenity he did not expect, being in such proximity to a person that neither invited or seemed to need conversation. The hiking drained him of stress and concerns, the distance from his day to day concerns and responsibilities growing with each step.

The trail started out low, and they had made good time all day. There was a northern blowing in, though, and it was going to take that steady pace all the way. Neither wanted to be caught on a dark trail, much less with the snow possibility. They had a few hours of daytime left to make the cabin. After they arrived, there would be nothing but time, hours upon hours.

It is said that one cannot "save" time. There is no jar sitting on the shelf with extra minutes to tuck into a day. Yet, the two climbers were carrying much more than staples and gear. They carried a well-stocked supply of saved intensity, saved moments of desire, and lust. And they carried something nameless that lay even a bit deeper than carnal craving. It was as if each second of desire, each minute of fantasy had been saved, treasured, and stockpiled. Collectively, they had hours of aching to explore and satisfy in an intense, drawn out, powerful situation.

It was a private cabin. She had known of its existence for most of her life. The cabin had not changed over the years, and could have been a historical monument of sorts. The cedar structure had surely marked historic escapades of the men in her life. It sat on the edge of a cliff, with a huge meadow behind it up the mountain. A rocky creek ran along the edge of the grassy slope, dropped off the cliff and turned into a waterfall that serenaded the cabin. It was a simple log structure, pitched roof with a big porch running along the creek side. The inside was sparse. A heavy log table and one bench, a shelf near the fireplace with the old tin plates and cups miners brought into the area a hundred years before. Heavy cast iron skillets hung in the fireplace, a rock structure that warmed the loft above. A simple wood ladder ran to the loft. There was a window in each direction, heavy cloth shutting out the light and the cold.

They dropped their packs on the solid wooden porch about sundown. It was the first time they had seen the sun all day, and it hung there on the crest of the mountain as if waiting on them to arrive. Dry firewood had been stacked by the last visitor, and they carried it in quickly, anxious for the warmth of the fire. The exertion of the climb was forgotten as the chores of arrival took their attention. Water was carried in, firewood stacked inside the door, fire built, and supplies stowed.

He relaxed first. Tending the fire and seeing to its success afforded him the chance to stretch, breathe deep, and take stock of the situation. He watched her finding things at which to be busy. There was not that much to arrange, or unpack, yet she seemed to draw out the chore. He sat on the bench in front of the fire observing her nervous activity. Her scent drifted across the room as she slowly and methodically rubbed lotion into her dry hands. He waited quietly as she drifted in a moment of solitude.

Walking over, he gently took off her jacket, laid it aside, and placed his hands lightly on her neck. He let his palms rub slowly around the shoulders and watched the air catch in her throat. His hands ran down her arms, taking her wrists in his grasp and drawing them behind her. He held them pinned there with his right hand as his left stroked her chin, and pulled her face towards his own. The whisper in her ear was as rifle shot on the meadow.

"I'd like my cunt by the fire now."

She stood transfixed. The thought of bolting was quickly replaced with the knowledge she could not get her feet to move. She considered a sudden change of heart, a denial of fantasy, a burst of assertive independence. Yet those and other ideas were quickly drowned in her mind by the desire to go beyond what she knew to be safe and allow herself to be manipulated by another. The synergy of the moment overwhelmed any thought of turning back. She breathed one long very deep breath and exhaled, extending the moment as long as possible. She tried to focus on the pulse of her body and relax completely. She could feel his intense, consuming gaze on her as she warped through these thoughts and converged on the ability to say two words.

"Yes, Sir."

He had stripped to his thermal shirt and jeans. She tried to remember back to the morning. Her mind began to race. Had he worn thermals? When did he remove his shirt? She wondered why she always had these questions at the moments she was not permitted to speak. By the time she did have leave to ask, she will have forgotten. Her mind was tripping through the most inconsequential of comments as her feet took her towards the front of the fireplace. He stopped her just under the ladder to the loft. The firelight illuminated her left side, and was close enough to warm her somewhat. Then he simply waited.

His patience would drive her insane, she decided. She looked up to contemplate his reasons for standing her here. She had told him little about the cabin, nothing about the ladder, and now she was very glad. Had he known ahead of time about the ladder, he would have come prepared. She let a brief smirk glimmer in her eyes as she thought of him regretting the packing of his chopsticks. She did contemplate that the ladder was a bit away from the fire, and the night was very cold. Once she was cold, she would shiver. Shivering would create movement, something she knew he would not tolerate. Gone were the smug smirks, replaced by the onset of fear.

He studied the emotions that were obviously rippling through her. He saw the smirk. Just as suddenly, he felt the rattle in her body as her thoughts grew dark and quiet. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know at the moment. He knew whatever had caused the brief thought of merriment had shifted to a sense of foreboding. He pulled her right hand from behind her back and placed it on a ladder rung just above her head.

"My pet?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"You and this ladder. The two of you are going to be very close this evening. How do you feel about that?"

She moaned and let her body sag. The words were lost somewhere in the middle of not wanting to think about an answer to that question in particular, and not wanting to think at all. This voice he used told her that no matter how great her imagination, his was just a bit worse. And his imagination was in charge. In a great sigh, her head titled slightly and her eyes closed as her face registered acceptance of the moment. There was only one word for the feeling that sang through her nerves.

"Terrorized, Sir."
"Who is your owner, pet?"
"You, Sir."
"And do you trust your owner?"
"Absolutely, Sir."
"Very well then. I'd like for you to remove your clothes now. Except, pet," he paused and smirked, "Don't let go of the ladder."

He smiled, amused at her attempt to hide the righteous indignation. Her knuckles turned white as she boiled with idea of being made to strip in such a clumsy manner. This was going to be awkward and frustrating, and though she remained silent, her jaw continued to work with the desire to speak out in defiance.

Her fantasies of seductively peeling off layers of clothing were about to be replaced with fumbling. The right hand remained above her head, not high enough to stretch her, not low enough to allow any freedom of movement. Fuming at her plight, she remained unmoving. Her left hand was poised at her side, the elbow slightly bent. Biting her lip, she considered his demeanor. Maybe if she stood here long enough, he would stride over and rip her clothes off in some take charge attitude. Perhaps she had misjudged her ability to follow through on this weekend, this event, this scene...............this submission. Did he not know how uncomfortable she was? Clothing provided protection from that moment when imagination became reality.

Even reaching to remove her clothes would be the single hardest thing she would do as a submissive. Clothing was a physical barrier, after all. Her left hand had never felt heavier. She felt herself tightening. Her chin thrust forward, she stretched her neck, set her shoulders and straightened her back. One squeeze of her thighs warmed her all over with the ache of her cunt. She looked up at him, finally, to find a stone reflection. Damn him, she thought. Yes, she wants it. Does she want it bad enough to go through the moments, clumsily at best, to strip and then have the courage to survive what awaits her afterwards?

She propped the first boot against the ladder. She rarely did anything with her left hand, and her fingers were cold, which made it harder to grasp the laces. She bit her lip to keep from uttering even a sound. Finally the laces came free and she loosened the boot, but didn't remove it. The laces of the left boot proved more difficult. Her balance was off and she was cold and frustrated. She pulled that boot off when she was done, and then kicked off the other one. He had let her work out her frustrations on the laces, and laughed when he saw her gather the boots in her left hand and contemplate throwing the boots across the floor. She looked up warily and set them down together very gently. The copper button of her jeans slid easily out of the denim. Still with only her left hand to accomplish the task, she pulled down the left side and then pushed at the right until the jeans fell softly to the floor. She scooped them to her free hand by lifting them with a foot. She laid them carefully on top of her boots, aware of his judging look and knowing instinctively her temper was of no concern to him, except as a reason to be more harsh.

The night was cooler than she had thought, and the air up under her shirts sent a rush of electrifying sensations to her breasts. She reached around behind her and flicked the hooks in her bra and then held the left sleeves of flannel and thermal in her right hand as she continued to hold onto the ladder. Her left arm disappeared, and then suddenly was peeling off all the layers at once. With what can only be described as utility of movement, she slid the shirts over her head, and down her right arm. She let go of the ladder just long enough to pull the clothing completely free of her body.

Satisfied that most of the undressing had gone smoother than she hoped, she tossed her hair out of her eyes and grinned defiantly towards the fireplace. She did not look at him directly, yet he was aware of the confident expression. Her nipples were hard and prominent in the flicker of the fire. Her chest heaved with the cold chill of the room against her bare skin, and she shivered. He didn't feel it was that cold, yet her body trembled visibly. He gave her about 30 seconds before reminding her she was not yet undressed.

She had gone this far. She looked towards the windows at the dark sky. This was the reason for the hike. It would be awkward to quit now. It would not be any less awkward in ten minutes when she wore nothing. There was so much at stake, nothing to lose. Her eyes dropped to the floor as she slid down the thermals, and the t-backed thong. Her polished toenails caught the light as he let his gaze go slowly from the floor to her eyes. She had straightened and risen almost casually onto the balls of her feet, steadying herself with the hold on the ladder. The longer she stood there, the less she trembled. Had she known the stirring effect of her naked body before him, would she have been less inclined to submit? He approached her slowly, moving his hands to direct her movement. He led her around to the front of the ladder, and pressed her body against it. He pinned her there between him and the ladder. Her face pressed against one of the thick, strong wooden rungs. Leaning against the ladder was uncomfortable, rough. The edges were full of small splinters that cut into her soft skin. She felt invaded as the ladder and his body held her in a tight grip. As he touched her, she felt inventoried, cataloged for future reference. He moved her hands to rungs high above their heads. The effect stretched her torso, and narrowed her waist and pushed her breasts more prominently through the ladder, displayed as targets. She felt him admiring the change in her shape. As opposed to feeling comforted by the appraisal, she continued to feel very unnerved. He then reached around her to lightly stroke her breasts. He had a soft, whispering, steady commentary on the ladder. He pointed out its finer qualities, its strength, its unique splinters. And he demonstrated its perfect size for framing her breasts in such a way that made them deliciously available for serious bondage. She began to listen to his voice and his words. She focused on his actions. He was transporting her, and she let go. She gave in to his control and released her mind from worry or concern. She concentrated on the feel of his chest against her back. She centered on the feel of his fingers as they burned across her breasts. Her back arched at the sense of his clothed yet hard cock near her naked ass. He pressed his body into hers and realized by her moans that he had been very right in his judging the placement of a particular rung.

All the awkwardness, all the concern was consumed at that moment. She knew by his movements that there was no going back for either of them. Her body and its ache betrayed her, as did his body betray his desires.

"You will beg me to whip you here. And do you know why?"
"Because i am a slave, Sir."
"Yes, because you are a slave. What else are you?"
"i am a cunt, Sir and a slut and a whore, Sir."
"Do you think, slut, that knowing the answers will lessen the severity of my whip?"
"No, Sir."
"And why are you going to endure my whipping you, cunt?"
"Because it pleases you to whip me, Sir."

He was sliding his belt out during the conversation and had wrapped it around her waist and the ladder. He pulled the buckle tight in the middle of her back. 'Don't go anywhere' he whispered as he left her whimpering against the rough wood. Returning with some precut rope, he bound her hands and ankles to the sides of the ladder. Her hands shifted from the smooth worn wood to the rough beams. The fine splinters of the cedar cut into her wrists where he had bound her. The tops of her feet and her shins rubbed against the roughness. Any squirming would cause chaffing. Without pause he removed the belt and struck her boldly across the back of one thigh. She cried out, then whimpered.

"Scream if you like, bitch...there is no one to hear you."

He began to turn her backside a soft blush and then a bright red, the belt landing randomly against her thighs and her ass. She ceased trying to endure and strained against the ropes that held her in position. As the strikes began to repeat some landings, she did indeed begin to scream, even cursing at him. Still he continued, until he had her breathless with pain.

He stopped then, but left her there. He tended the fire, added some wood. As he listened to her breathing return, he spoke of the heat of the fire, and described for her how the metal poker turned a shade of dark red. He wondered aloud how bright hot it would get were he to hold the rod at the tip of the flame. Would it become as hot and red as....say ...a brand? Just the notion brought a wail from her and he smiled at the power of his ideas.

"My pet? you seem to have some trouble remaining still."
"yes, Sir."
"There's one thing in particular I am thinking would hold you against that ladder. Do you know what I am thinking about, slut?"
"Only there are no chopsticks here, Sir."
"There aren't? are you sure?"
"We never discussed this ladder, Sir, why would you have brought them?"
"Do you recall the night of photo albums, pet?"
"Yes, Sir"
"Then you'll remember the pictures from your last family excursion here. And how you told me all about this place of escape."

She was at once completely undone. He had known all along. She had thought to escape his own particular brand of nightmare; instead, she had led him directly to it. He walked behind her then, and retrieved a number of things from his pack. The cold lube sent shivers up her spine and she fought the intrusion of the plug. He was surprisingly merciful, yet insistent and stopped only when it was seated deep in her ass. His full weight leaned against her, forcing her flat against the ladder. His hands reached around to tease her nipples until they bounced against his fingers. He snapped two thin wooden rods around one and began twisting the small rubber bands at the end. Then he slid the bands down towards each other until he was satisfied with the fit, and repeated the steps to her other breast.

As he stepped back, she relaxed slightly. Then she cried out in pain. The chopsticks were perpendicular to the rungs of the ladder and the slightest movement pulled dramatically at her tits. His hand in the middle of her shoulder blades forced her to press back into the ladder.

"I said you'd become very friendly with this ladder, cunt. You'll wish you could fuck this ladder in a few minutes, just to stay that close. Now, I believe you have something to ask me."
"Sir?"

He doubled over his belt and popped it near enough to her that she felt the rush of air before hearing the crack. Her body cringed, and the weight of the heavy metal plug caused her to throb.

"What do you want, slut?"
"Please don't make me ask, Sir, please don't make me choose this."
"I'm waiting."

She took a huge breath, and felt the sticks click against the rungs. She exhaled and pressed herself against the ladder in resignation.

"Please whip this slut, Sir."

With her tits firmly bound to the rungs, her ass full and throbbing, he began to whip her again. He took his time, letting the chain reaction of pain entertain his fancy. She would jump from the sting of the leather, only to cry out at the searing pain of her nipples, and begin to grind against the rung of the ladder as he drove her closer and closer to the edge.

He stopped to run his fingers up into her cunt, and found it hot and dripping wet and quivering. He moved his fingers back and forth, driving her to grind against him even as he heard her scream in pain at the equating pull of her nipples every time she moved against his hand. Still she squirmed against him. Her screams had turned to a litany of pleas of every sort. He removed the plug and she heard the heavy steel hit the floor.

She felt him lean towards her and then the cutting pain of him taking her ass. He silenced her scream then by shoving his pussy wet fingers down into her throat. Her body arched in a response that pulled on her tits even as his cock reamed her ass over and over. No matter which way she moved, there was no escaping the pain and the torment. Her body begin to stiffen and she let herself fall against the ladder, conscious only of him moving steadily in and out of her. His fingers pushed against her tongue and his thrust ground her clit against the rough wood of the hard round rung in front of her. She floated on the brink of explosion.

He cursed her for being still, for not fighting him any longer, and let his rage feed his lustful ravaging. He demanded her to move, to distract herself. He made his point perfectly clear by wrapping his hand in her hair. He twisted her head so that he could growl his command directly in her ear. She was NOT allowed to cum. He waited until he was certain he had drawn her back from the edge, denied her completely and then sank into her again, filling her ass like the whore she was.