Railroaded

We hiked up to the railway bridge from the side road, leaving our car at the gas station and carrying our gear in packs. I was practically skipping with excitement. I had scoped out this location yesterday on a company tour of the railway infrastructure, and marked the spot with my GPS. I'd told you all about the tour, including the frisson I got from climbing in and out of the high-rail truck, the well-built engineer assisting me with a hand on my lower back. I wanted to go back and play there, I said. It had been so hot, imagining being taken against the back of that high-rail truck like a damsel in distress. There were so many possibilities, I said. You had taken the suggestion and done some research last night, looking at the site on Google Earth and reading up on bridge architecture while I went out to run some errands.

Spanning a wide river that was perfect for swimming afterwards, the bridge had many perfect attributes for a rope suspension photo shoot: far away from civilization, with a few different spots where we could set up for shots in both shade and sunlight. It offered a gravel landing under the bridge supports at one end, falling away to a scree slope that led down to the water.

The train service had been suspended a few years ago due to the aging rail bed and ties, although a local alliance was valiantly trying to restore freight and excursion trips. I'd met the five-man crew that maintained the rails yesterday and heard that they'd planned to work on the north end of the line today, so this spot would be private.

Smiling at my eagerness, you had agreed to take my suggestion and visit the spot today for some rope suspension. "And possibly more," you hinted, with a certain knowing glint in your eye. I was fairly certain this meant some excellent play, and I loved to be under your spell in the great outdoors.

Arriving at the bridge, we set down our packs and scouted out a place for our first piece. Several steel struts jutted out of the concrete abutments and criss-crossed up into the architectural work of the bridge deck. Knowing the safety authority regularly inspected all these bridges for their load capacity, we felt confident that the steel was in good condition. You set up webbing and rings for your suspension point, and got your camera ready nearby, while I laid out our drop mat, ropes, and a few toys just in case we let the moment inspire us. Then I stripped down to my cotton panties and sat down cross-legged on the mat, hands on my knees, as you like to have me wait for you. The air was warm, even with a slight breeze that rippled the soft hair on my arms.

Guiding me to my feet, you began wrapping me with a familiar hip harness, providing several excellent anchor points for suspension. Your hands, confidently manipulating the rope and smoothing it over my skin, helped me settle into that restful, peaceful place that I love to go to. I love the rhythm of your hands and the way you work with the pace of our breathing to create intimacy between us. A chest harness followed next, putting my arms behind me in a way that stretched my shoulders, enough to create that delicious tension but not enough to become unbearable.

"Your eyes are closed now," you murmured in my ear. "You will not see again until I give you leave." This instruction is familiar to me. It's our way of providing sensory deprivation without the need for a blindfold. After many sessions, I've learned to keep my eyes closed through every imaginable scenario, and it's a point of pride for me that with your command, I can render myself unseeing at will.

Working with heavier rope, you created the load lines that took my weight up and laid me to one side. With a single-column tie on each ankle, you guided my long legs into angles that I knew would photograph elegantly. A small smile flickering across my lips, I imagined the visual impact of my pale skin and your burnt orange rope, contrasting against the black and brown structure above me. While I breathed deeply to allow my body to ride through the stress of being suspended, I heard you stepping around me, your camera shutter clicking to capture different angles. Putting the camera down, you came to me and caressed my arched back, my neck, and my hair. I sighed, glowing with a blissful sense of well-being and happiness. I love to be your piece of art, your muse.

I felt the deep vibrations transmitting to me through the ropework before we heard the rumble of something moving along the rails. Blinded still, my hearing was heightened and I could hear the engine of a truck and the scraping of steel wheels against the rails above, drawing nearer to the bridge. As you caught the sound, your hands came to my body and grasped my waist. One of the high-rail trucks used by the maintenance crews was approaching rapidly. I held my breath, hoping that the truck would roll over us and across the bridge without noticing us.

My luck wasn't good. The truck slowed as it came closer. I began to writhe, yelping, "down!" You didn't stir, though. My heart pounded and I kicked a foot against the ropes holding me up, but as always, I was totally caught in your web. Why weren't you getting me down? The truck came to a stop on the tracks above us, just off the bridge, and I heard the tell-tale crunch of gravel as the driver stepped out. I caught and held my breath, afraid to make a sound that would give away our presence. In my nearly-naked state, I could feel every ripple of air across my breasts, jutting out from their harness.

"We're down here," you called out.

Shock.

"Say nothing," you spoke in my ear, in the voice that gives the commands that I always obey.

Footsteps crunched down the rail bed and down the side of the bridge embankment.

"Thanks for calling me," spoke a deep voice. I recognized it immediately as G, the engineer who'd driven me on the railway tour yesterday. I froze, acutely aware that I was strung up and exposed to this person who'd I met for the first time yesterday, in a very professional capacity.

"Here she is," you responded. "I can leave her up, or let her down for you."

I realized, with a chill, that you were making good on a promise you'd made me. One day, you'd said, I would become yours to dispense with. I had longed for the day when you made me so much yours that I became property for you to share, and when I would experience the slutty shame of being a thing of desire. It was completely taboo, so totally against my day-to-day ethics, that I had eroticized it to the point of believing it impossible.

That I was both fulfilling my fantasy, while facing a hugely humiliating exposure, made my brain hurt.

"Put her feet down, to begin, I think."

The suspension was adjusted, lowering my feet to the drop mat beneath me. Your hands supported my shoulders as I found my balance. I hunched over instinctively, ashamed of my near-nakedness, but you held me upright and purred in my ear, "Posture, pet. Make me proud." This command, speaking to my innate need to please you, had the desired effect. My chin came up and my shoulders went back. My back arched, thrusting my ass in the air, while I sucked in my belly and held my showpiece stance. You nudged at my feet and I immediately responded with separating them further than shoulder-width, creating space between my legs. The cotton of my panties felt a chill where they'd grown wet as I responded to the suppressed fantasy of being on display. My breathing was short, shallow, just a fraction away from panic.

You stepped away, but I heard your feet move only to the edge of our play mat. I imagined you presenting me with a sweep of your arms; the goods were on display, and the Master was proud of his handiwork. "You may inspect her," you invited.

G stepped towards me. Though blindfolded, I could still feel his acute scrutiny of me. Smallish breasts captured by a chest harness, with my tiny button nipples flushed and jutting out. My white cotton panties barely concealed my mound, and they continued to darken as moistness grew in me. My long legs were stretched and taut, fit muscles were enhanced by the exaggerated stance and the binding rope. My mouth was slightly open, as I tried to remember to breathe deeply and follow my training.

G's hand touched me, fingers spread wide, right across the solar plexus. I remembered ogling those large, roughened, working hands yesterday in the truck. I'd imagined myself being spanked by them and I'd been amused at my audacity. He stepped to my side and the other hand slid onto my back, holding me within those hands like a piece of meat to be inspected. My elbow touched against his chest and I realized he'd removed his shirt. I wished I could see that.

G's hands then moved over me, lifting and squeezing a breast (not painfully), and testing the flesh of my butt. His hands slid down one leg and up the other, as if I were a horse at market, being checked for confirmation. A soft moan grew at the back of my throat and threatened to escape, but I knew I was expected to remain silent and pliant. Hands glided up my sides and one gripped my jaw, tilting my head to one side and another.

"She's marvellous. Exactly as expected."

"Isn't she just?" you replied. "As agreed, I will take photos?"

"Yes, that would be excellent."

Not only to be loaned out, but to be captured on film in my degradation. What a perfect storm you created for me, Master.

My senses screamed as G continued to explore me; he gripped a fist in my hair, bringing his mouth down upon mine in a predatory invasion. Caught off guard by the taste and feel of a new intimacy, I was distracted from where his hands were headed next. In one motion, a tight grip captured a nipple while the other hand cupped my mound firmly. The swift response of urgent need ripped through me. Vulnerability, exposure, degradation, loss of control - all this added up to such a powerfully erotic combination, and I needed my aching sweet spots to be pushed hard. I was perched on the edge of an orgasm, and G's groping fingers threatened to push me over. I heard the clicking of your camera shutter so I knew that you were there - and I knew you could see how close I was getting to losing it completely.

Just as I was about to be lost, G pulled away. My body shook in outraged frustration, but I couldn't say a thing, couldn't even level an angry or defiant glare at either of you because I was bound to keep my eyes shut. I heard the two of you chuckling, and I wanted to scream out my need. So primal, that need, and I couldn't get myself to release, trussed up as I was.

"The truck?" G inquired, as I gasped for composure.

"If you're ready to go," you answered. "I'll get her down for you."

"Oh just one moment. The panties," G said. "They really must go."

"Here. Use this."

A cool metal slid against my hip, up through the side of my panties. Your rigger's knife, wielded in G's hands, tearing through the cloth while avoiding the rope harness. One side of the panties parted, then G sliced through the other and handed back the knife. His strong hand grasped the crotch of the panties, thoroughly wet, and pulled the cloth away from me, the cotton pulling at my skin as it slipped under the ropes of my harness. It happened in one swift action and left me raw and exposed. The sudden feel of the air against my naked flesh was tortuous and the power of the motion ripped away part of my pride as well. A sob and moan escaped me, finally, after so much struggle to be silent.

I paid for it with a slap across my breast.

"SILENCE," your voice intoned darkly. Tears sprung to my eyes as I fought to regain my composure. I didn't want to break your rules, didn't want to disappoint or embarrass you in front of this guest.

"My apologies. She knows better," you explained to G.

"I don't mind if she makes a little noise, actually. The landowner here can probably hear her through the woods," G remarked. Of course: the railway right of way was only 50 feet wide, I recalled, and along the route there were houses not too far from the tracks. Though we'd chosen a spot that seemed deserted from the side we'd approached, it made sense that properties nearby might have a view or be within earshot of the bridge. Though things seemed dire, I'd been clinging to the comfort that my only audience seemed to be these two conspirators. Being reminded that my humiliation could be observed by others dashed the final shred of dignity that I'd been holding to. Wordlessly, I let the tears begin to flow, and my chin fell onto my chest.

"Oh, now isn't that pretty?" G complimented... not to me, but to my owner and Master. "Let's get her down and go up to the truck."

You put your camera down then, and removed the load lines from my harnesses. With my arms still restrained, I felt off-balance and scared. Rather than make me stumble across the gravel of the railbed, though, G lifted me in a fireman's carry. Slung over his broad shoulder, my ass in the air and tits brushing against the muscles of his back, I felt more of a thing than you'd ever made me. He threw in a couple of slaps on my ass cheeks as he good-naturedly hefted me up the embankment. You followed, snapping souvenir photos as we went. My only vague thought for you was imagining your pleasure at the images you were capturing. I wondered passively that they were showing me as pathetic and devastated as I felt.

There was no shade where his truck was parked. He put me down with my feet on a railway tie, and I could feel the heat reflecting off the treated wood. My shoulders ached, and I hunched my back to find some release. Mercifully, G must have decided that he'd like to change things up, so he began untying the harness. As the ropes came off my arms, I pictured the marks they would have left on me. My hands fell by my side, but as lost as I was in despair, I did not shake them. I felt your hands intervene, rubbing circulation back through my hands and wrists. Master, you're so kind, to think of me that way.

The safety of your plaything assured, you stepped back again. I heard your footsteps crunch on the gravel as you gave us some space. G's hands touched my shoulders, running down my back, soothing the muscles knotted by their captivity. This unexpected sweetness unnerved me, took me off guard. I gasped for air, my tears drying on my cheeks, as those working hands brought me the illusion of being caressed. Fingers traced the rope marks embedded in my biceps, and I felt G's breath on me as he leaned in and licked a trail of sweat that had dribbled right down my spine.

The respite was short-lived. G had come for something specific... and as he made his next move, I realized that you had scripted it together. I was pushed forward, my hands going out in front of me and finding the tailgate of the high-rail truck. Oh hell. You fucking didn't. As if replaying an old-time movie, my memory flashed on yesterday's conversation as I'd described this fantasy in a giggling mess of high spirits. Oh, you clever, genius son of a bitch, I said to myself, even as I bowed my head and spread my arms out to grab on to the tailgate.

Knowing what was coming now, I let myself slip finally past the wall of resistance. I was getting used, by this semi-stranger, under your direction, in a possibly visible location. To respond to your perfect mastery, I let go and became the perfect slave.

G's hands slid down between my buttocks to find the slippery cave that greeted him. A small whimper came out of me, a response to the invasion of his fingers into my pussy hole. Keeping one hand on my shoulder to push me forward, he dug deeper, his fingers exploring me inside, as I melted around him. My need to cum had painfully returned and rose up and up, as my mewing noises increased in volume. Every ounce of my focus was on that sweet place inside me that G was stroking, insistently. I lost it finally in a shaking, knee-knocking climax that had me wailing out my exquisite distress.

In the time it took me to regain myself, gasping for air while moaning helplessly, G opened up his jeans, released himself, and applied a condom to his cock. Hands gripped me by the waist and without further hesitation, he filled me to capacity. Sopping wet and achingly open as I was, he slid into me easily, letting out a satisfied groan as I gripped him from the inside. No more suspense, no more waiting. He was getting what he'd come for - as was I. My hands gripped the truck tailgate until my knuckles showed white. The gentle giant engineer was gone and I was getting fucked by an animal. Rough thrusts made me shudder and shake, ripping helpless cries from my throat. I was lost in the primal possession of the man.

As always, my pussy responded to the constant abuse with abandon. God, I never get used to the way that I need to be fucked like this. It makes me swear, it makes me beg, it makes me lose all sense of who I am. G's balls beat against my clit and his fingers dug into my hips, and I gave myself over to the harsh, animal waves that happen to me when I cum like this. I bent my head onto my forearms, squeezing my eyes shut harder, as my hole took the beating he wanted to give me and I needed to bear. After an undefinable time, I heard his voice change and grow more desperate, plaintive in that way that men sound when they are losing themselves. Pushing myself back against him to give him more to thrust into, I gave myself up to being his whore. He let out a groan and then slumped forward against my back. He held me so tightly that my feet came off the ground. The grip brought fresh tears to my eyes, and I let them fall freely.

G paused for a while, then pulled himself off me, letting me go so my feet returned to the ground. He was touching me gently now, although I could feel places where my hips would be bruised from his hold. My pussy felt raw and used now as the wetness met the cooler air. Eyes still shut, I wondered where you were, as I clung to the moments and the feeling of G's fingers so I could keep it together. Gravel crunched again and there you were beside us; I felt your presence and heard you murmur something to G. I heard his jeans zip, footsteps crunch under boots.

A soft blanket was wrapped around me and I was picked up, just like the proverbial damsel after quite a distress. I don't know who it was that held me then, but I clung on as I was lifted into the bed of the truck. You were both talking, but the words didn't penetrate the fog that had settled into my mind. It seemed both of you then were holding me as I began to shake, the adrenaline coursing through me and working its way out. Eyes still clenched shut, I fell asleep, feeling as I drifted off a sense of heavy contentment in having served you well. Your perfect slave.