The Light Between the Trees Ch. 01

No matter what happens from here, remember one thing: I'm not forcing you to read this. You could have bailed out at any time. You've been warned. From this point, if I do something that pisses you off or triggers you or freaks you the fuck out, the blame's on you. The exit is over there, please don't let it hit you on the ass on your way out, motherfucker.

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Travis is in jeans and a polo shirt, a little preppy, but a step up from the t-shirts he manages to pour himself into at work. The guy is a walking HR incident waiting to happen, flashing the bicep, letting loose that smile. He's good enough at his job that he can turn the code out, fix the emergencies, run the coding team and still have time for those little conversations in the kitchen with the girls from User Experience. I know Penelope, with the long, straight black hair, in particular has a crush on him, but her parents are strict, and it wouldn't be tolerated at home. She's first generation in from Hong Kong and dazzling beautiful, slim and tall, elegant in a way that I'm not. Yet, here I am, walking up to Travis in my heels, smiling at him, making my moves.

"You're late," he says, but he grins.

"Afraid I was gonna stand you up?"

"Nah."

I shrug, acting cool, "Maybe I just got held up."

"With who?"

"The previous guy."

Travis laughs. He's happy to play along.

"So what am I? Number two?"

"You think?" I reply, "How about this, maybe you're number three."

"Fucking hell," Travis rumbles, "You go in hard and fast. This might be a good night."

"After all?"

"Yeah."

I smile sweetly at him, then ask, "So your expectations were low?"

He gets off the barstool and all of a sudden I'm looking up at him, even in my heels. He comes close, smiling down at me, and I know what he's doing, closing the gap and filling my personal space with his bulk, dominating the environment. I feel a little twinge inside and feel peeved that it's working. His eyes are fixed on mine, and he doesn't say anything for a moment, letting the silence play out.

"I've seen how you are at work, Chloe."

I look up into his eyes, I know I'm smiling back at him.

"And how am I at work?"

"Oh," he grins, "The boss bitch."

"Don't you like that?"

"Being ordered around, given tasks and deadlines?" he replies, "By you?"

"Some guys get off on a woman telling them what to do."

He actually puts his hand on my arm at this point, and I can feel that point of connection between us. There is a little thrill.

"I've heard of those guys. They sit there and take orders. A female-led relationship."

"Yeah, they do what they're told."

Travis is silent again, and I can tell that he's working me out, picking what to say next, seeing where he can push.

"You know the opposite of a female-led relationship, Chloe? You know what they call that?"

I shake my head, not breaking eye contact.

"A relationship."

He smiles at me, suddenly charming, watching my reaction closely, then breaks off, scanning the bar. When his eyes come back to me, he breaks out into a wide grin.

"Let's just skip the bar, come on."

Travis holds his hand out and I stare at it. I've been here for three minutes, I haven't even got a drink yet. More than that, I haven't had time to work out if the man I've agreed to meet here is genuine, or if he's a chancer, or a charmer, or a psychopath. I know next to nothing about Travis, I have no idea what he's like outside work, in the bedroom. I can feel his presence, the muscle mass; I know that physically I wouldn't have a chance if he decided to force me.

That thought sticks with me, and I feel the twinge again, looking at the outstretched hand, then up to his expectant face. I take his hand and his fingers close around mine tightly, pulling me along with him as he leads me out of the bar and onto the street. I knew his name, I know where he works, if he tries anything I can make him pay. I'm safe enough... aren't I?

"Where do you want to go?" I ask, trying to sound casual, but my mouth is dry and it comes out as a little squeak.

He squeezes my hand and I know I just gave the game away, telling him exactly how I'm feeling. He releases my hand and trails his fingers down my back and around my waist, pulling me in closer to him. I feel the weight of his palm resting just above my bottom, his fingers curved around my hip, just a little lower than decorum would permit on a first date out on the street in public.

As we walk, as my hips move beneath his hand, a feeling radiates from his touch. I realise that he hasn't answered me, even as he flags down a cab. When he reaches forward to open the door, the hand disappears from my hip and I feel strangely lighter, like something has been lost.

"Get in," he tells me.

"Where are we going?"

"Just get in."

I hesitate, looking up at him, trying to read the expression on his face. We're engaged in a battle of wills: Travis wants to remove me from the public environment; I want to dictate the pace.

"Still the boss bitch," Travis remarks.

I have some pithy comment ready for him, but it never passes my lips. His eyes are smouldering.

"Get in," he repeats, patiently, as if he's quite prepared to stand here all night.

I feel my legs bending and I surprise myself, sliding into the back of the cab at his behest. He pats my side, indicating that I should move up, and he slides in next to me. I try and move further across to give him room, but his arm is around my waist, holding me against him. Travis closes the door and the cab pulls off. He gives the driver an address in a part of the city that I don't recognise and I try to memorise it in case I need the information for later. But I can't: my attention diverts to the way his index finger is stroking my hip bone through the fabric of my dress. I realise that I'm in the cab going back to his place to be fucked without so much as a protest.

"You work fast," I murmur.

"As do you," he retorts, "No point doing the drinks and getting-to-know-you. I know what you want."

"Oh, really?" I shoot back, a little edge in my voice, trying to convince him that I'm not that easy.

"Oh, come on Chloe, you gonna deny it?"

He grasps my hand and before I can react, he places it on his crotch. My hand closes automatically, as if it has a mind of its own, and I can feel the bulge there, growing in his pants. He feels huge. His hand presses down gently on mine, enough to keep me there but not enough that I can't pull away. After a moment, he removes his hand completely and places it on my knee, just below the hemline of my dress. He gives my thigh a little squeeze.

"You can take your hand away, or you can keep it there," he breathes into my ear, "You can stop me doing this, any time you want."

His hand slides around my thigh, under my dress. I can feel his fingers edging up between my legs, brushing suddenly against the fabric of my panties. I'm aware that I'm cupping his substantial erection, letting him explore me. I close my eyes without meaning to, waiting for Travis to reach that little bit further under my dress. My insides are tingling.

His fingertips stroke the fabric nestled over my pussy, moving in tiny circles as they explore the valley between my labia, pushing inwards ever so gently, running up and down my slit in lazy, careful strokes. I can feel how hard he is beneath my hand and I grip him in response, feeling him shiver next to me. Meanwhile, his fingertips worm their way to the edge of the fabric.

"Wider," he murmurs, and I find myself obeying, opening my legs.

The fingertips slide under the edge of my panties, running over the soft, delicate skin of my pussy lips, pulling the fabric to one side. I feel the pressure of his touch between my labia, stroking me, feeling me moistening for him. My thumb plays over the bulge in his pants, finding his head, circling it even as his finger begins to circle in me, parting me, exploring.

I tilt my hips, opening my legs wider, conscious that my breath is coming in little gasps.

"Still the boss bitch?" he asks.

I don't answer him, all my attention is focused on the journey of his finger, willing it to find my little hardening nub.

"Or just my bitch?"

The way he says it triggers something, rousing me from my reverie, an objection on the tip of my tongue, but before I can speak, before I can deny it, his mouth is on mine, his tongue slipping between my lips, and his finger finally slipping into my slit, pressing against my desperately yearning clit. My protest dies in my throat, and my tongue finds his, kissing him back deeply as I enjoy the thrill of his finger brushing against my swollen nub.

When he breaks off, I'm short of breath.

"Next street, on the left," he tells the driver, and I realise we're arriving.

He gives directions, his fingers still exploring my pussy as he talks. He's making a joke with the driver about the football and at the same time, his finger reaches down and slides inside me, embedding himself up to his third knuckle in my vagina, feeling how slick I am for him.

"Credit card," he says, presenting his phone to tap and pay.

The finger curls round inside me and the tip begins to stroke my front wall, working its way up and down until I gasp, betraying the position of my g-spot. His hand withdraws, as if his reconnaissance of my body is complete, and he opens the door and gets out.

I stare up at him for a moment. Travis looks down at me, a strange, hard expression on his face.

"Get out."

I hesitate for a moment. There is something in his demeanour that signals trouble. It's the way that he took control in the cab, exploring me, never asking permission, taking it as his right. It's the way he's looking at me know, expecting me to obey. I could close the door and tell the driver to take me home. Travis knows it too. He's not hiding his intentions. When I get out of the cab, he smiles like it's a little victory.

He directs me to the apartment block, his hand cupping my bottom now, squeezing gently but firmly as I walk. We get to the door, standing in the darkened entrance, but he doesn't get his key out. Instead, his hand travels up my body, until he's cupping my breast.

"You were so wet in the cab. Your panties must be saturated."

I find myself lost for words, reeling under the onslaught against my senses, concentrating on the way his thumb is rubbing in little circles around my hardening nipple.

"You won't need them anymore tonight. Why don't you take them off?"

I frown, then shake my head slowly. His fingers tweak my nipple gently through the fabric of my dress, while his other hand slides down my hip. I stand there as he hitches my dress up. I don't protest as his hand slides up under the fabric. Then he wraps his fingers around my panties, and I don't object at all.

Travis gives a little tug, and I feel my underwear shifting. I should stop him, I shouldn't let him strip me in front of the entrance to his apartment block, in public. I get a say in what happens. I....

"There, that's better," he says, as my panties slip down my legs to pool around my ankles.

Travis crouches down, raising my feet one at a time, letting me step out of my underwear. I see him scrunch my panties into a ball and stuff them in his pocket, taking ownership of them. I expect him to get up then, but he leans closer instead, teasing up the hem of my dress to reveal my crotch. I want him to stop, I don't want to be exposed in public, but my protests don't make it past my lips. He kisses me between my legs, and I can feel his tongue dipping into my slit, the soft, moist extrusion pressing against my swollen clit.

Travis laps his tongue against my nub, and my legs go weak with the thrill and the bliss of his attentions. I reach down, running my hands through his hair, tousling the long dark strands. His hands come up, seizing my wrists, bringing them behind my back. One of his huge hands wraps around both my wrists, pinning me there.

"No touching, that's the rule."

His mouth makes contact with me again, sucking, licking, kissing, exploring me and I struggle in his hand, wanting to break free and run my nails over his body as the waves of pleasure emanate from my crotch. He's too strong though, pinning me in place effortlessly, working away inside me. I feel a finger at my entrance and then he penetrates me, making beckoning motions inside, rubbing his fingertip over my sensitive spot, making me squirm.

I can't escape his grasp, or his tongue or his ceaseless finger, and I begin to build, feeling the tension welling up in my core. It shouldn't be like this, not on the doorstep, not when anyone could walk up and see me, but I don't seem to have a choice. I'm unable to break free of him, succumbing to the building tide of pleasure from his tongue, thrilling to every motion of the finger embedded inside.

I begin to tense, and I know he can feel it because he works faster, his tongue rasping against my clit now in flat powerful strokes. I hear myself speaking, and I'm begging him not to do it, like it's his decision now and I'm just along for the ride. I can't help myself and I begin to contract, my walls quivering around his finger, my thighs clenching as the first wave of my orgasm breaks, making me gasp and buck in his clutches. He doesn't stop, pushing me further, until I'm milking his finger with my contractions, desperate to eke out every last moment of my climax.

The finger is withdrawn and I'm left staring into his eyes as he rises to his feet. There is a click as he unlocks the door.

"Inside," he tells me, and I follow him, still buzzing in my afterglow.

There are two flights of stairs, and he makes me go first, his hand on my rear as I climb the steps. By the first landing, his hand has slipped under my dress and he's cupping my naked buttock. It feels like such an invasion, but instead of telling him to stop, I find myself slowing down slightly, making his hand push me up the stairs a little, the firmness of his grip clutching at the soft orb of my bottom. My fingers wrap around his wrist, holding him there against me.

By the time we reach his door, I'm standing there with his hand on my bottom, my dress hitched up, already lubricating at the thought of what's next. I'm touching him now, but he keeps grabbing my hands, playing a game of chase with me as I try to avoid his grasp. I fail, and he pins both of my arms behind my back again, unlocking his door with his free hand and then pushing me inside.

The door closes with a click and I realise I'm alone with Travis in the darkened hallway of his apartment. He releases my wrist and I reach up to cup his face. He swats me away, reaching around to unzip my dress. It comes loose and begins to fall, but his hands are on my bra clasp instead, unhooking me and pulling all my clothing down at once. Within thirty seconds of getting me inside his apartment, I'm standing before him in nothing but my high heels.

In the gloom, I can make out his face, the eyes glittering in the dark as he surveys me. I reach out, taking hold of his shirt and beginning to pull it up, intent on seeing his naked body. He swats me away again.

"You need to stop doing that," he grates.

"Doing what? Trying to undress you?"

"Yeah, I'll undress myself when I'm ready."

I pout at him, and say, "I'm already naked."

I take hold of his belt and tug. This time, he grasps my wrists forcefully, and I can't move. I try to pull my arms back, but only now do I find out just how strong he is. It's like my hands are trapped in rock. I heave, but my arms don't move. I don't even think he's straining.

"You're such a brat," he murmurs, "Still thinking you're the boss bitch."

He releases me, and I rub my wrists, conscious of my nakedness in front of him. His eye drift down to my crotch, to my neat little triangle of fuzz, taking in every detail of me until I feel like I need to cover myself. I try, but he catches my arms again, stopping me.

"No," he says, "I'm looking."

I struggle against him, bringing my knees together to close my legs, anything to stop feeling so utterly exposed under his gaze.

"Let me go," I hiss, writhing again, but it's ineffectual.

"I will, but don't cover up."

He releases me, watching me intently. I want more light, so I can see him properly, read his expressions, but he's standing in shadow and I'm in a shaft of illumination through the window, my body bathed in the cold, pale light from outside. I move my arms slightly, but then I freeze as he shakes his head, warning me. I surprise myself, doing exactly as he says.

Travis unbuckles his belt, sliding it out of his belt loops, coiling it around his hand, and for a moment I believe that he's about to whip me. I'm standing naked in his hallway, unable to escape, unable to overpower him, in the dark in the privacy of his apartment. He can do whatever he wants to me, and I can't do anything to stop him. All I'm aware of is the throbbing heat between my legs as those thoughts run through my head.

Travis winds the belt around one of my wrists, spinning me around to face away from him, bringing my free arm back too. I feel the leather around my other wrist, coiling around, then the chink of the buckle being tightened. A hand reaches around, travelling over my hip and down between my legs, splaying me open and dipping briefly inside.

Travis says nothing as he spins me back around to face him. I test my bindings, struggling, but he's done a good job. I don't understand why I've let him tie my hands. I've never done this before; Toby would never have treated me like this.

Travis takes me by the throat and begins to exert pressure, pushing me down. I resist, but his hand gets heavier, until eventually my knees buckle under the strain, and I drop to the floor. He holds me there, his hand around my neck, my hands tied behind me, and I realise just how helpless he's made me, just how aroused I am.

"What are you gonna do?" I breathe.

"Anything I want," Travis replies, looking down at me, and I believe him.

He unzips himself and brings out his cock, his eyes never leaving my face. I stare at it, at its size, as it swells before me. I know what's coming and I clamp my mouth shut, adamant that I'm not going to yield. I don't do oral for strangers, I barely even did it for Toby. Who was he, thinking he could simply slide his cock into my mouth and expect me to suck like some cheap porn actress desperate for the money? He pushes his tip against my lips and I refuse.

"Such a brat," Travis murmurs, "But you're my bitch now. You'll take it."

I stare up at him, my eyes blazing, my lips pursed together, but here I am, bound and on my knees in front of him. He's right, he can do anything he wants. I can't stop him.

Travis applies a thumb to my chin, pressing down. I'm looking down the length of his substantial shaft, watching the purple head bobbing in front of my face in the gloom. I struggle against him, but my lips part and he taps the tip of his cock against my teeth.

There, in that moment, something happens in my head. On my knees in front of him, helpless, with nowhere to run, with him pushing into my mouth, I begin to quiver, my juices flowing down my thighs. I gasp from the shock of the intensity of the feeling, and that's all he needs. He slides between my lips, filling my mouth completely.

I struggle, but I know I've lost, a part of me giving in, relieved to have surrendered the fight. He begins to thrust into my mouth. His tip feels huge against the back of my throat, and I gag, pulling back and retching, only to have his hand holding me in position, his thumb still on my chin, his fingers gripping my jaw. I try to pull away, but he begins to fuck my mouth, sliding almost all the way out before plunging in again. Each time, he bumps up against the back of my throat, making me choke.