Into the Woods

The minute I climbed into the back of his white Econoline, onto the filthy mattress, he told me to get undressed. I was more than a little apprehensive. What if a cop pulled us over? And demanded that he open the back doors. There I'd be lying naked for all the world to see. Or at least the arresting cop. How embarrassing!

On the other hand, the Deanslist ad I'd answered earlier in the day made it clear what our relationship was. He was the Dom, I was the sub. I was in no position, literally or figuratively, to question his authority. Hadn't I just willingly crawled into the back of his windowless van knowing god knows what lay ahead for me?

"I said get naked faggot!" he shouted back at me as he climbed in the cab. As he started the reluctant engine I removed my shoes and socks. Then my shirt. As we exited the Home Depot parking lot—we'd met in the lumber department, per our email agreement—I pulled off my cargo pants. I was wearing, for his benefit, panties and pantyhose. But at the moment this didn't seem to interest him. I removed them too.

We were heading north up a familiar six-lane highway. He looked back.

"That's better, faggot! Look at that skinny little sissy body. Ew-wee! Is that all you got, that little thing? Too bad you ain't got tits."

I looked down at my shrunken little penis, which was in "frightened turtle" mode. It barely registered two inches out of a possible—as when I'd been sitting at my computer earlier, trading explicit emails with this guy and stroking myself—six-point-five. Oh well.

The radio came on. A country station. I cringed. To make matters worse two crude speakers were mounted above the windowless back doors. They blasted music—if you could call it that—down on me.

"Loud enough for you?" he shouted. I hunched my naked shoulders. How soon would we get there? Wherever "there" was? Anything, any type of torture would be better than this."

He made a left-hand turn, major intersection. Then, further down, a right. We were no longer rolling along a smooth highway, I could tell that much. Another series of turns. Now the road turned bumpy. Was it paved? It jolted my spine. Now and then I glanced around out the windshield. I saw overhanging trees. Rocks began to pelt the underside of the van. He let out a cowboy hoot.

"Now we're rockin'!" he shouted.

He made a sudden, sharp left-hand turn that nearly threw me into the van's side. I held of for dear life. We were plunging downhill. The van abruptly stopped, throwing me bare feet-first against the van's rear doors. He set the emergency brake with a screech and jumped out of the cab. We'd arrived. Somewhere. My heart was racing. What now?

My Dom threw the rear doors open. In his left hand he held several lengths of nylon rope; in his right some kind of skinny reed about four feet long. He poked me in the shaved belly with it.

"Get out, sissy-boy."

I obeyed. The rutted weeds we'd just plowed through rose to mid-calf. We were in some kind of field. Alone. Off to my right a dense woods loomed. He poked me with the reed again.

"Move." Another forceful poke, in my left buttock, steered me toward the woods. It was downhill. As I walked, faster and faster, he continued poking me with his magic stick. Then, at the entrance to the trees, where I hesitated, he cracked it firmly against my ass.

"Ow!" I jumped.

"Move it, faggot. I got big plans for you."

At least now the ground was clear, except for fallen leaves. With practically each step forward he either prodded me with the stick or whacked my ass with it. It was painful but not excruciatingly so. In fact, masochist that I am, I was rather enjoying it.

We came to a small clearing. He was standing behind me, the tip of the reed dimpling my left buttock so forcefully I thought, for a moment, it might break the skin. He then pointed with it, over my left shoulder.

"See that tree straight ahead? The smooth one?"

"Yessir."

"Go hug it."

"Go...?"

"Hug it, faggot! Like your favorite faggot boyfriend! Kiss it!"

And with that he delivered a vicious swipe of his stick across my buttocks that propelled me howling forward. I looked back, and down. That surely must've broken skin, and brought blood, I thought. He struck me again, equally hard, as I hesitated in front of tree.

"Hug it, faggot!" he shouted again. And with that I fairly leapt at it, encircling the smooth bark with my arms.

"Move your feet forward," he directed, in softer voice. Then he went around the backside of the tree and, first, tied my wrists off before sinking to his knee and binding my ankles. I was married to the tree now. Fixed. Immobile. My right cheek pressed against the trunk. My fearful little penis squashed against it below.

Now he came around to the front side, with his skinny reed, and lashed out with it. I lost track after the tenth quivering strike or so. This was excruciating. Tears were running down my cheek. I moaned and whimpered with each fresh blow. I didn't cry for mercy but I cried.

"Sissy!" he kept shouting. "Sissy!"

I envisioned long, red, criss-crossing welts rising across my poor pale buttocks, with blood trickling down. I could hear my wife in the morning when she saw me in the shower...

"That's nasty. And what have we been up to this weekend?"

"Nothing."

"Another Deanslist friend of yours?"

"And what about you? And Aaron?"

"At least Aaron and I engage in normal, consensual, heterosexual sex? You know, intercourse? Things like that? You on the other hand..." And with a shake of the pretty head she would exit the bathroom. "You're pathetic..."

Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore—my Dom was running out of virgin flesh to whack, and stripe—the thing broke in to.

"Fuck," he said, staring at what was left. Which he tossed aside. "Those are hard to come by."

To the extent that it could, my naked body, bound tightly to the tree, sagged with relief. Phase 2 was far more pleasant. He came up behind me with a cupped hand full of K-Y jelly. Parting my striped and bloody cheeks he worked his fingers inside.

"Damn, you're roomy! You ain't no virgin," he said. "Maybe," his three fingers inching deeper inside me, "I should be fisting you rather'n fucking you, hunh?

"I was with this one faggot once," he continued, hand still inside me. "He liked to be fisted? Shit! I had my whole arm up him nearly, up to the elbow. Then when I pulled out it was like his insides came out with it. They call it...prelapse? Postlapse? Somethin' like that. It was pretty disgusting. On the other hand it was kinda cool. You ever been fisted?"

"No sir," I replied, my eyes still teary.

"Oh well. Maybe next time."

I was heartened. There would be a next time. I felt safe. Relieved. And I'd always fantasized about being fisted...

For the present, however, it was his bare cock that entered me. He did it in one forceful thrust, bugging my eyes out inches from the bark.

"Take that, faggot," he said, through clenched teeth. And I did. This was nothing compared to the caning he'd given me, moments earlier. This was pleasurable. Fulfilling. He was my Dom and I was his sub, pinioned to a tree. This was my role. I was his woman. Fuck me! Shoot it in me!

And he did, quickly, without warning, staggering backwards in the aftermath, and nearly tripping over his own boots.

"Fuck!" he shouted. "Faggot! Holy fuck! I should...I should, I swear to god, I should leave you here. To rot. Fuck! You got blood all over me! Look at this!"

I couldn't. My face was pinned to a tree. He must've pulled something out of the ground, or grabbed a dead branch, because he came back over and began whipping my ass and back with it. It lacked the springy tension of the reed however, and landed relatively innocuously, though it left muddy marks.

"Fuck you," he concluded, out of breath, before coming around and untying the ropes. "And don't get blood on my mattress," he advised, moments later, welcoming me once again into the rear of his van. "Or cum."

But his load of semen was tight inside me. Till morning at least.

Later that night, sitting at the computer on my sore bottom, my wife still out with her "friend" Aaron, I sent him an email: "Sir: Thanks for the ride," I wrote.

His reply: "Get ready, faggot. Next time I shove my entire fist up you!"

I couldn't wait.