Trappers Bend Ch. 07

"How do you think it's going, so far?" Byron asked.

The two were sitting out on the deck. They'd enjoyed some leftover salad Ana must have made the day before. Now they were seated outside, sharing a beer in the cold evening. Their captive was still on the St. Andrew's Cross in the living room. After the conversation, they'd gotten her ready, replacing the blindfold and gag with a complete rubber sensory deprivation helmet.

It took some doing to put on, but the effect was magic: a dark blue, almost black, seamless rubber face, with Ana's hair cascading beautifully out of the top in a spray over her head. They'd tilted the Cross back further so that it was about 30 degrees from horizontal, and Dane had installed a new tool to provide Ana some overnight entertainment. If it worked as he'd hoped, she'd be in an amenable frame of mind in the morning.

"Pretty well," Dane said. "She's very good at accepting commands and conditions. Her little rebellion lost her the right to ask questions for a few days, so I think she's going to be eager to make me happy so she can ask all the standard, 'who are you?' and 'why are you doing this?' stuff."

"Is that what happened in the bathroom?"

"Yeah. Gave her a chance and she went for it. It's why she was so contrite just now."

He looked at Byron. "You thought there was a problem, huh?"

"There was a problem," Byron answered, "a couple of them actually."

"The fall?" Dane asked.

"Not as such," Byron said. "Girls can fall. It's a hazard of training, and it looks like she's okay. But a good trainer minimizes the risk. That means not doing things like making an untrained girl hobble around heavily restrained and drugged."

"It worked out though, didn't it?" Dane ask.

"That's not the point," Byron said. "What would have happened if she'd slipped and cracked her head open out here?"

Dane looked at him. "But I caught her just as I planned to. She got a bruise, but that's not unusual."

"You're not getting it. At some point you're going to make a mistake, or fall victim to a freak accident, or a clever slave. It's important to plan things so that even if something goes wrong, it doesn't become a disaster. You won't last long playing fast and loose."

"Okay. I'll be more careful. Is that it?"

Byron looked at him. "You tell me."

Dane gave a frustrated sigh.

"You say, 'a couple of things,' right?"

"Yeah," Byron said coolly, "I suppose I did."

He continued looking out into the dark towards the forest, apparently waiting for him to speak.

"Can you give me a hint, at least?"

Byron turned to him, a look of disappointment on his face.

"What's the most risky thing about training in place?"

Dane didn't hesitate. "Everyone knows exactly where she is, and where we are. So if we slip up, we're done."

"Exactly. And what do we do to prevent this?"

"Lots of research, getting access to her accounts, interrogating her. We did all that."

"And the interrogation went well, you think?"

"Well, you saw how cooperative she was."

Byron nodded.

"Cooperation is part of it, but it's not everything. Mindset is every bit as important, and you put her in the wrong one. You don't want her confused and disoriented when she's giving you critical information. I mean, she didn't remember Karl, and he's been part of her life for years -- you really think he's the only one she's forgotten?"

"So what's the problem?" Dane asked. "We can get the rest of the information tomorrow."

"It isn't that simple. You've already made a big impact on Ana's psyche. She's imaginative, suggestible, and extremely submissive. And when she wakes up tomorrow, she'll be even more out of it"

"So what was I supposed to do?" Dane asked, angrily. "I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't."

"You're missing the point, boy. You need to be able to evaluate the risks. It's not about doing well, it's about getting out of this with a well-trained slave and your freedom. From now on, you need to factor in that Ana probably won't be a good source of information, even if she wants to be. Do you understand? I need your head on straight."

"Yeah, okay," Dane said with a scowl. "So what's the upshot? Are we in danger?"

"Yeah," said Byron. "We're always in danger."

He stood up. "It's pretty cold out here. Let's head up for bed. We can talk more tomorrow."

* * * * *

"Thank you for all the help with your training tonight. I'll expect a new suggestion tomorrow."

It took Ana a moment to realize she was remembering the words and not hearing them, although she wasn't sure how long ago it was. Long enough for her to fall asleep, overheated beneath the stifling mask, and wake up, shivering from her nakedness in the drafty old house. Long enough for her to forget Sir's final instructions for the night, and wake up with them ringing in her head. And long enough for the device between her legs to become a problem.

It was some sort of peaked metal horn clamped to the frame so that it bisected her lips, curving around her sex to just barely press against her opening without fully penetrating her. Ana was already extremely sensitive when they pressed it against her, but tired enough to fall asleep before it could bother her.

The horn's vibration was woke her up. It was subtle and intermittent. She'd almost thought she'd imagined it at first, because it had stopped almost as soon as it woke her up. Then, as she lay there, sealed in darkness, it had begun again, in a low rumbly wave.

Ana moaned in frustration, only to feel a painful shock from her collar, choking the objection off in her throat. She quietly caught her breath, and pressed with her legs, trying to move her swollen sex off the horn. It turned out they hadn't removed the footpads entirely. If she pointed her toes down, she could just barely reach them, shifting herself enough to take the pressure off her sex. Just a little further, and she'd be free of the vibrations.

Suddenly, a painful shock lanced through her clit, causing her to scream and set off her shock collar again. Ana collapsed, shaking against the horn. There was some sort of protruding arm right above her sex, and she was not meant to touch it. Now that she was aware of it, she could feel where it was, its shaft barely touching her bush, the sinister end waiting just above her clit. Instinctively, she rubbed herself against the horn, trying to distract herself from the pain.

It worked. Too well, in fact. The pressure and the constant arousal hurt, but the vibrator was insidious, the intermittent vibrations preventing it from overwhelming and numbing her, but also making it almost impossible to get any relief.

With nothing else to do, She quickly worked herself into a frenzy. She was almost there, pulling on her bonds to grind herself harder against the device, then easing off, over and over. She tensed her legs again, and was hit by another jolt of white hot pain as the shocker lanced her clit again. Her whole body shook with sobs.

It took her a few minutes to calm down enough to realize what had happened. She'd moved just a little too far in her arousal, pressing her sensitive clit against the shocking device. She lay there, sensitive and exhausted, struggling to think of a new plan.

Briefly, Ana remembered what she'd resolved to do: escape. She started to systematically test each of the straps, pull each arm and leg in isolation to find any give she might be able to exploit. But she only managed to focus for a few moments, before she found herself again pressing against the vibrator, her powerlessness to escape becoming powerlessness to resist.

She got a little further next time the vibrator turned off, testing the straps once again. But it felt like a useless gesture. She knew escape was impossible right now. She'd felt them tighten and check the straps.

All Ana really wanted was to reassure herself that she was stuck so she could return her attention to the little consolation buzzing between her legs. It felt good to realize it. To let herself treat the devilish little horn as a treat, and the little shocker as a challenge she could overcome.

Ana got better with it as the night went on. She received a few shocks, but soon could feel the limits of her prison in her body. Her legs were shaky, but she still kept her clit from the shocker. She was too tired and disoriented to make herself come without shocking herself in the process, so she daydreamed, endlessly teasing herself as her captor had intended.

Sometimes the vibrator would stop for a while, and she'd slip off into fitful sleep. Then it would slowly rouse her, and she'd find herself grinding. The blindfold and endless repetition made it hard to discern the boundaries between sleep and wakefulness, until it all blurred together into a sexual haze.

The moments that she was most awake were the least rewarding. Then she'd remember that she was trapped. That all the pleasure and teasing was to break her, to turn her into a thing, a possession.

Ana was grateful that wakefulness didn't last long. Those thoughts would make her feel tired and resigned, and she'd drift off again to another place, where the pleasure was simply pleasure, and the torment was only there to prolong it.

And then suddenly, she was fully alert, her heart racing through the darkness with inspiration.

Ana often had these kinds of ideas. If it felt fresh and urgent enough, she wouldn't even take the time to glance at a clock. She'd just click on a lamp, trap the idea in her notebook as fast as she could, before it could fade or flee. Then she'd read it over and over, savoring the pleasure of having stolen an idea from a dream.

Often these ideas had to do with recent conversations, so she'd share them with the friend who'd helped inspire it. This was one of those. It would be perfect for the boy from yesterday, she thought to herself.

The straps creaked indifferently as Ana tried to get up. And she remembered where she was, what she'd been excited about. And she remembered just who the boy from yesterday was.

It really had been a great idea, she thought, numbly. Sir's confused little cunt would earn quite a lot of praise for it if she gave in and shared. It was the perfect tip to help him turn her into a slave.

The vibrator turned on, as if in acknowledgment. And Ana again sought her reward.

* * * * *

Dane read over the draft post one more time. He was sure about the picture, at least. Ana wasn't one to document every aspect of her life, which was one of the things that had made her a good candidate for this plan. Instead, she took a few dozen pictures at a time every so often, drizzling out the best over social media in between. She'd already taken over 40 photos from the area, capturing the forest, the grounds, and the view from the little nook in the master bedroom.

Dane's favorite picture was a selfie she'd taken on the trail, not far from the spot where he'd cleaned her up and slung her over his shoulder the first day.

She was sitting on a tree stump, with a soft, wry smile, her wavy hair ruffled by the breeze. She was dressed in a fuzzy red blouse, stretched just a touch across her chest in a way that Dane found quite appealing. The photo was slightly out of focus, and you could see little specks of foam picked off by the late afternoon light on the river in the background.

The whole thing came off as just a little flirtatious, but that wasn't what caught Dane's attention. It was how genuinely pleased she looked. Certainly she knew she looked good in the photo and was happy with the fit, her soft, pale legs crossed and exposed to the thigh by a simple skirt, highlighting her luscious curves. But more than that, she was pleased with the day, the breeze, and the way it picked up those little specks of foam on the water.

Looking at it for the first time since taking her, Dane fancied there was something a little wistful in her smile as well, like a creature who had emerged from the forest briefly to bask in the light, but knew she must return to the darkness all too soon.

He'd looked at a lots of Ana's pictures, some far sexier, but it was this one that he kept coming back to as he lay in bed, thinking about how right he'd been to take her. He'd had her already, and he'd have her again, more completely every day. But this image seemed to crystallize what he wanted with her -- not just to submit to him, or even to worship him, but to be pleased to be his. To feel that exact same warmth about her Sir.

He looked over the post one last time. It was short and simple, even by her terse posting style. But the longer he went, the more likely that some gap in his knowledge of her life, some mistake in imitating her writing style, would bring his adventure to a tragic end.

Byron was right, after all. They were already more exposed than usual with this job, and needed to be more careful. This would give him a little bit more flexibility on time, and a good reason not to respond immediately, in case anyone sent a worried message and they needed time to plan before responding.

He hit send and watched the post pop up on her channel.

Greetings from Trapper's Bend! Lots of wildlife out here, and the weather has been lovely so far: dry and mild, and just a bit chilly. Reception and Internet is pretty bad, and there's lots to do to get ready for my first country winter, so apologies if I'm not online as much as usual. Love you guys!

And above the words, a beautiful picture of Ana, looking quite safe and pleased with her surroundings.