The Cave Ch. 01

He returned, heading back to the bed, shedding his shoulder furs. The muscles in his tomentous back flexed as he tossed them aside. The woman was straightening the fur blankets. Gasping, I faced the wall, blinking rapidly in surprise.

Did...did they share a bed?

Sneaking another look, I saw they were both in the center of the mattress. She was sitting in front of him and he was scooted up close to her so that her back was against his chest. It looked like he was nuzzling the back of her head but I could hear the unmistakable sound of licking.

I turned away again, frozen, stunned at what was happening across the room.

He was preening her. It was so...primal...so...animal kingdom.

And I wanted to keep watching.

The manacles made the least bit of sound as I eased back down to the floor, slowly, so that I didn't disturb them. I was afraid what they might think to see me observing, but I couldn't help myself. He was kneeling over her now, licking under her chin before nudging her arms up over her head and working on her underarms. I could tell she was ticklish there the way she squirmed and I found it endearing, rather than controlling, the way he pinned down her arms down to keep her still.

But then he lowered down to her breasts and I gave a sharp inhale as my whole body flushed hot. He paid special attention to her tapered nipples, and she actually arched up against that long pink tongue. He circled nonstop around her areolas until he made her groan.

I wasn't exactly sure what I was watching, but I could not tear my eyes away. Some kind of ritualistic cleaning. It was one thing I had noticed about her, how clean her body was, even though she had been naked in this cave for at least three weeks. He took care of her and I wondered if he would take that kind of care for me. The thought of his animal tongue sliding around my bare skin was shamefully arousing and made the blood rush to my groin.

By the time he had reached her pubic area, my chest was throbbing. She parted her legs for him and he slathered his tongue all around her inner thighs before halting to inquisitively sniff her private spot. He began cleaning her pubic hair, tentatively, as if to savor it. He didn't linger there for very long, but he did manage to elicit two low moans from her.

He bathed her quickly but thoroughly, down her legs to her feet. One of his massive hands came up to touch her side and she seemed to know that meant to turn over. He started again at the center of her back, cleaning, slurping, licking, tongue flattening loosely, languidly along her flesh. The fire was starting to go out and it was getting dimmer inside the cave, but I still couldn't pull away my gaze.

When he had cleaned her down to her feet, he touched her side again and this time she brought her legs in, standing on her hands and knees, her rear end displayed for him as he took a few hesitant sniffs, then a couple delicate licks across her butt cheeks, before plunging his tongue into her crevice. His large hands came up to hold her tush steady so he could wash her properly. She moaned again, louder, and the sound of her enjoyment made my nipples shrink and a gush of wetness warmed the inside of my thighs.

Dreamily hanging from my chains, I let my legs spread open. It was easier to relax in dim light, and when the only other two people in the room were entirely occupied with each other. My sheepishness was swiftly draining away, my stimulation completely unexpected. I realized if they didn't want me to watch, they could have gone to another part of the cave.

I had been so focused on his tongue that I hadn't noticed the sinister projection emerging from the strips of his loincloth. It was dark and long and curved upwards. But his face was still locked to the back of her thighs and she was bucking furiously and groaning in intense pleasure.

And then he hopped up to his feet, squatting in that queer way on his haunches, holding steady on her hips. He slid inside her, pumping vigorously, hips thrusting as he worked her. It was so primal, so beastly the way he didn't kneel, but squatted. And she held her rear so high for him, taking him as fully as she could. Below her, her breasts swayed with their movement. I could see his balls pendulum swinging under him and the ferocious driving made them slap her pubic area. A low growl emanated within him and with a final shove against her backside, he held it deep inside her and let out an animalistic howl that seemed to echo forever.

When it was over, they both collapsed sideways. My eyes itched from the strain of the darkness and I closed them to give them some relief. Their breathing evened-out and soon it was almost black again, just a few coals lingering. I was wide awake, restless after what I just witnessed, listening to her soft breathing against his infrequent snore. I had never spent the night in a cave before and felt unsettled at the constant tune of dripping water and the occasional interlude of falling rocks.

I pulled on the chains, trying to slip my wrists through the manacles, but they cut into the meat of my thumbs. The restraints were starting to jangle from my effort and I feared I would wake them. Actually, I wanted to wake them, the woman at least. She was free. She could unlock me and we could both escape.

But I waited long into the night and nothing. I didn't understand. Did she want to be here? He'd obviously let her go before, he trusted her enough let her sleep next to him, but not enough to unchain her while he was gone.

I made some subtle throat noises to alert her, even choked out the worst cough of all time, but she was either sound asleep or ignoring me. I gave up on that and just sat there, and I don't know how long I stared at the dying red ember in the fire pit, but I was asleep before it was gone.

*

It was less traumatic waking up the next morning to soft, warm firelight and the serene song of spitting sparks. My abductor had rebuilt the fire and replaced the candles around the room but I didn't see him anywhere.

The blonde woman was harnessed back up in her chains, idly staring at the flames, sitting indifferently with one knee up, black pubic hair gleaning in the light. Her tresses cascaded down the front of her chest, shiny, but heavy and a little oily. It was kept snarl free from their captor's strong tongue, but it wasn't the rinse and repeat treatment I was used to in the shower.

Reaching for the fangs of stalactites on the ceiling, I stretched my arms and shifted to the other, slightly less numb butt cheek. The noise of my shackles alerted her of my rousing and she looked over. She smiled briefly, a thin, tight-lipped expression of feigned compassion.

I responded with a crooked grin and asked, "What's your name?"

"What's yours?" she snapped. It sounded like an accusation.

"Um, Layla."

She considered me a moment and conceded. "I'm Amy."

I tipped my head towards the tunnel that ultimately led to the outside. "Who's he?"

"It's Pratt."

"Oh." For some reason, I couldn't picture him telling her that. I couldn't picture him telling her anything. "So, he can talk?"

Rolling her eyes, she gave a little scoff and changed the subject. "So did you enjoy the show last night?"

My face was on broil and my armpits started to trickle, but I was glad she brought it up so I didn't have to. "Did he hurt you?"

"Did I look hurt?" she asked. Her lips turned up a little. She was being facetious.

"You're not afraid of him?"

"I was." It looked like Amy was going to say something else and after a few moments one of her chains rattled as she shrugged.

I didn't understand. Who wouldn't be scared? Clearly, Amy was just going along with it, giving in to Pratt's demands so she didn't incur some kind of punishment. "Have you ever tried to escape?"

"Don't waste your energy."

That didn't really answer my question, but I let it go. Maybe she had tried once or twice, but she certainly didn't succeed and it petrified me to see what she'd been reduced to.

"Where are we?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Where do you live?"

Please don't say here, please don't say here, please don't say here.

"Two miles south of Tower. You?"

Her answer intimidated me. I never could wrap my head around cardinal directions. "I'm staying at my uncle's cabin on Pike Bay."

"Fancy," she said, but her tone was less than impressed.

"I only go there when I need to work," I muttered. My cat and I had a permanent residence in Duluth.

She scoffed again. "What do you do? Mine the open pits on the Mesabi Range?"

I forced a polite smile. "I'm a writer."

That's when it hit me. No one was going to be looking for me. My mother knew not to expect many responses to her emails when I was working and certainly my cat wasn't going to organize a state-wide woman-hunt for me. My only hope was my editor, but correspondence with her was rare until the due date of my latest project was ominously looming.

"What do you do?" I asked. It was more or less to fill up the silence that followed.

"Well, I haven't been to work in three weeks, so by now I'm probably unemployed."

I heard something from the tunnel and when I turned to look, Pratt was standing there, draped in his rigid furs and feathers. Apparently our conversation had masked the sound of his approach and seeing him there made me jump and gasp. His face was obscured by the curtain of dark dreads and wild locks that would put any hair band to shame, but there was something so strict and aggressive in his posture, it made my stomach twist.

I looked at Amy. Her eyes flicked up once to Pratt, but then they slid sidelong. The tension between them was palpable, but the spell was broken when he turned away and shot a disdained look in my direction, too quick for me to glimpse his grotesque face. Only then did I notice he was holding a small broken basket, cradled in one of his large hands like a large woven egg.

I was ready to get up and stretch. My legs were stiff and my tailbone ached, but I crossed the streams of my chains and refrained from moving my limbs too apparently. I checked the status of my fetters again to see if they could be undone, but they were exactly as I remember, leaving red marks of irritation where my wrists chaffed against the wide cuffs.

Pratt moved around the cavern and I noticed him over my shoulder next to Amy, placing something from the basket to the metal plate on the ledge above her. Distracting myself, I began lightly tracing the designs in the wall with the pad of my finger, ignoring him when he started to come over. The breathing deep in his lungs was low and controlled.

He poured what was left from the basket into his hands and showed them to me. A pile of pink raspberries were slightly squashed from his powerful fingers, some of them still with the stems. The sharp, black tips of his fingers were curled around the meager meal and I noticed his thumb and finger were stained purple from his harvest. When he was sure I'd looked at them, he dropped them onto my plate on the ledge above me. I had to flinch to avoid his powerful elbow when he raised his arm.

He had obviously spent all morning picking berries in some hidden copse of bushes so that Amy and I could have something to eat. Although if he hadn't plucked us from our real lives and tied us up, he wouldn't have the burden of keeping us fed. But for some reason, that made me sad. It seemed keeping our bellies full was all he had.

I elevated my gaze so that when he started to turn, I would catch his eye. I was going to break the rules, but with good reason, and got my first real look at his face. At first glance, he was vaguely feline, but on closer inspection, I could see his delicately human features were set on a wide neck of muscle and throat.

I forced a smile and for some inexplicable reason, I made sure it was a closed smile. "Thanks," I whispered.

As if in response, his finely sculpted nostrils flared once. His sly eyes were very light brown, almost golden, and acutely expressive as they studied me. His attractively soft lips were grimly flattened and his chin and jaw were covered in patches of wiry auburn.

What happened next played out so fast, the only thing I was truly aware of was the shooting pain from my nose all the way up between my eyes. I heard my plate clanging against the stone floor and I realized he'd angrily flung my breakfast across the room. When the stars stopped flashing in my vision, I found myself staring in astonishment at his fangs, his nose and brow blending together to wrinkle with intimidation. A short, mean growl warned me of my impertinence.

Dropping my face, my teary eyes burned from the shock of his strong elbow and my bruised feelings. I had no doubt striking me had been accidental, but it didn't make the pain less and while I didn't see Pratt walk away, I felt his breeze as he did. Nudging closer to the wall, I coddled my injured nose. I didn't even want to look at Amy, complacently eating her berries.

Christ, I hadn't felt this way since I was sent to time-out in the fourth grade. For some reason after that, all I could brood about was my editor, imagining what rare instance she might need to call me mid-project to inevitably prompt my rescue. I'd had enough of this game.

*

I sulked for most of the day.

Of course, it wasn't about the berries. I didn't care that the rigid pecking order had left me hungry on top of humiliated. I just wanted to go home, feed my cat and check my email. I wasn't even craving spicy Chinese, I'd settle for a medium mushroom at Luigi's, since this was clearly all just punishment for indulging my peppery tastes.

My day could generally be divided two ways. Standing or sitting. If I was sitting, I was only thinking about when I was going to be standing again. If I was standing, I was usually bashfully facing the wall, wishing I was sitting. A couple times I considered squatting, to really stretch the muscles that were tight, but that would very obscenely expose parts of my body. I didn't want to stack mortified on top of the humiliation I was already experiencing.

Amy was not as restive as I was, however, and didn't switch positions half as many times as I did. Sitting, standing, whatever her position, she sat as she pleased, whatever was most comfortable for her at the time. Knees up, legs out, thighs apart, it didn't matter to her. Standing, she was just as unconcerned, her arms spiraled casually up in the chains, and while she'd been stripped of just about every dignity she had, she actually seemed quite poised. So much so, I was unable to keep my eyes off the black fur covering her secret place. I would sneak looks out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes I think she knew. Other times, I think she wanted me to look.

But it was Pratt's attention she was competing for. All day, her eyes were glued to him. Every time she adjusted her stance, threw her hair back or lifted a knee, it was all for him; simple actions, all designed to catch Pratt's eye.

And he was taking strides not to notice, but if that organ under his loincloth was any indication, he was aware of everything. I inhaled sharply the first time it appeared. It swelled impressively through the strips of brown mink, bobbing indecently as he strode, with purpose, from one task to another. I became accustomed to examining it and it was the only part of him, that I could see, that wasn't covered in that flesh colored fuzz. Making an appearance several times throughout the day it was looking red, angry and shiny by the end of the afternoon.

Pratt spent most of his time at the far end of the cave, in his room of little objects. He'd moved around some of the candles for task lighting, and I could see a series of wall ledges in that dark nook where he stored things. I couldn't tell everything he kept there. Scraps of metal, small bones, maybe, the few dishes he possessed for our comfort. He'd bring something over to the fire, tinker with it, bring it back to the shelves, select something else. In between, he'd tend to the fire, adding small pieces of lumber.

A few times, he brought Amy water, tipping the cup to her lips as she drank, stroking her hair with his black claws. And if he had an erection at the time, she would openly stare at it. I was sure if she hadn't been restrained she'd have reached out and touched it.

He brought me water only once. At least the cup was full and I finished it completely. It tasted mostly clean, full of minerals with a swampy aftertaste. I could die from a parasite, but I could also die of thirst. I rolled the dice. I had drunk from the hose as a kid, I was probably immune.

Pratt didn't lay a hand on me as he held the cup up to my mouth. Instead, he propped his sinewy forearm on one knee as he squatted down beside me. It wasn't difficult to remember to keep my gaze down this time, as my eyes were instantly drawn up his loincloth. His scrotum was like two plums in a prickly sack and it sagged low, almost touching the floor. I remembered the way they looked last night in the easy light, swinging aggressively between his feet, pummeling Amy's nether region. The memory put my cheeks on bake.

After we'd both had our water, but before he left to gather our dinner, he unshackled Amy and took her to the tunnel by the hand. She looked puny next to him, and the shock of every step made the flesh of her rear quiver and her nipples vibrate. Pratt had taken her out of the cavern once already today, like he had done last night, and I wondered where he was taking her and what he was doing with her. His penis was dormant for now, but even so, after their libidinous display last night, I couldn't imagine what they would be doing that would warrant such discretion.

I had pretty much conceded to the shackles by now. My alone time was now spent in lewd positions, stretching my muscles in ways my humility didn't allow in certain company.

They were still holding hands as Pratt led Amy back to her mat of fur and straw. He secured her cuffs, carefully, gently, and stroked her hair again. Then he cupped her elbows in his massive hands to bring her hands to his face and that pale pink tongue appeared again, meticulously running up and down her hands, curling around her fingers. When he was done, she shook her hands to air dry them and he turned away, came towards me.

Uh-oh. Whatever this was, it was now my turn.

I stumbled back uneasily as he approached. He produced a key, which seemed too small for his large fingers to coordinate, and two clicks later the chains clanked down and I was massaging my raw wrists. He motioned to the tunnel with one black claw, but seemed wary to touch me. He didn't take my hand or my arm or my shoulder. I followed the lift of his finger, my arms folding around my chest to keep my breasts from swaying as I walked.

I entered the dim passageway slowly and a cold breeze slapped me, wrinkling my nipples. I wondered if the air was coming straight from the outdoors. Pratt walked a step ahead of me and the further through the passageway we went, the louder the running water sounded. I was apprehensive of the dark side rooms as we passed by them and the freezing stone floor actually burned the soles of my feet. Ahead, we came across a fork in the cave. The wind that whistled through the corridor was absolutely chilling and I hugged myself tighter as Pratt led me down the right tunnel.

Pratt stopped at the dead end and turned around. Like a sign post, his arm shot sideways into a smaller cavern. I peeked inside. There was a single torch, the shadows of the stalagmites on the wall looked like scary pointed teeth and I felt like I was walking into the maw of a giant shark.