Friday, 21 December 2007

By the Fire

A story, that is what it is, just a story. I use to maintain that I like there to be a little context in a story for me to relate to it. It struck me that the context is only hinted at here, not described. I do hope the feelings make sense, though. And you may imagine the context yourself. Read and have fun! I enjoyed writing this.


That evening he looked at me from across the camp fire with a new light in his eyes. I had seen it before but only as a fleeting glimpse, something passing quickly. Now it was there, staring at me through the flames. It made me feel naked.


I was naked. I had been naked since the day I met him. I was naked and he had looked at me before, looked at my body. Now I felt stripped, bared and exposed in way I had not known before. It made me tremble. It made my legs go weak.


I had been naked since the day he threw to the ground and tied my hands behind my back. I dared not scream. He had made it clear that he would rather cut my throat than let me call the alarm. He threw me to the ground tied my hands behind my back and as he cut my clothes from my body I stared in despair at my home. I had been captured just a stones throw from my father's house and I saw the cottage between the trunks of the trees as I lay on the floor sensing my clothes being cut away.


He kept me naked. I walked naked in front of his horse, my hands tied behind my back, a rope around my neck as a leash. He had me work for him naked. I cooked and made the fire naked while he sat down watching me. He knew my body by now. He had seen me move for many days now.


I cried every day in the beginning. Then the agony abated. Slowly, I learned that this was my lot. I was a captive and I could not change that. I wanted to run but soon I realised I was lost. I didn't know where to run had I been able to flee him. And I was naked. Everyone would see that I was a runaway captive.


He didn't touch me. He smiled at me as he tied the ropes on my body. He told me what to do and he used the whip on me when I was slow. It is strange how quickly I learned that the whip was my ruler and I had only to obey. He didn't have to whip me many times. I am a quick learner. I think he liked that.


He used to sit back by the fire while I waited on him, gave him food and had my meal when he said I could eat. He regarded me and said very little. I was used to being watched, having his eyes on me, on my body. And sometimes I saw that in his eyes which made me blush and know I was naked. That which stared at me across the camp fire that night.


He rose without a word and walked over to me. I was on my knees and looked up at him. He didn't speak but took my arm. He pulled me to my feet and walked over to a small tree a little distance away. He was not brutal but determined and I knew better than to protest or fight him. I followed him to the tree and didn't say anything as he turned my back to the trunk and tied my hands behind me.


It was a warm night, a sweet night and it was not bad being naked. Had it not been for his gaze, the gaze that made me blush, I would have liked being naked.


He returned to the camp fire and sat down. He regarded me while I stood bound by the tree. He didn't speak. I didn't speak. I waited. I saw him look at me, let his eyes linger on me and I felt myself beheld. I felt him looking at me. His eyes was like a touch. I squirmed and looked away.


Then he came to me. He walked up to me and came close. He hadn't touched me before, not properly. He had used his whip and he had brushed against me and I had felt his hands while he was tying me with his ropes but he had never touched me. Now he was standing close to me. He didn't touch me but I felt his presence. I smelled his scent, a scent of the forest, the fire and...the man. I sensed his rough clothes even if he didn't touch me. I felt them as if they scratched my skin and I felt naked.


He stood there for an eternity, close, almost touching me, his clothes close to my nakedness, knowing he was there. I had to look down, his presence too overwhelming. I couldn't think.


Then he did touch me. He touched me for real. He put his hands on my arms and I froze. I held my breath and froze. My heart started beating and I squirmed. He heard me drawing my breath and I knew he smiled. I looked away but I knew he smiled. I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to see that gaze.


His hands started moving. His rough and strong hands were soft on my skin. He stroked my arms, slowly and gently. I squirmed. His touch was so gentle that I almost started to cry. I had no say in this but a touch is a touch and his was very sweet.


His hands moved gently but swiftly and now he held my breasts. I held my breath again and I wondered if he could feel my heart beating madly. I wondered if he knew what I felt. I looked up and I saw his gaze. And I knew what he saw. I looked away.


I started to breathe again, my heart beating in my chest. I felt his hands on my breasts, gently, stroking, feeling me. He stopped, my hard nipples in the palms of his hands. I looked away, felt tears in my eyes. His touch too sweet, too lovely to be denied. I must not surrender. To resist him was the only thing I had left, the only thing that was still me, the me that was my father's daughter, my mothers daughter and my brother's sister.


His hands moved down my flanks, touching my soft skin, moving over my hips, then over my belly, touching all that was exposed and soft, touching me. Moving closer to that which was mine, that which was the entrance to me. I had tears in my eyes now. His touch was so soft, so lovely, I had not known the like of it before.


I feared he would touch me there, enter my domain. I feared it. I squirmed and cried and wanted to turn away and flee. I wasn't to be taken like this. I was free. I wasn't to lose what I had, this way.


And yet, this man, this thief, who had stolen me and left my clothes in a tree to tell my people I had been taken, this robber of the forest had the sweetest of touch that I had ever imagined and what he did to my body, the body he had stolen was beyond what I had known possible.


I cried out as he entered me. I cried as his fingers took me. I hated his touch, hated his fingers in me. I could not resist him. The fire he lit was not a fire I had known before and in that moment I lost what I had, I lost who I was. I held my breath and forgot where I was.


Then he kissed me. He put his lips to my lips and kissed me, gently but firmly. He didn't excuse himself, he touched me and he kissed me.


I kissed him back. I could not resist him. I kissed him back. And in that moment I didn't want his fingers to move away. In that moment I wanted him to stay. In that moment I was his and I wanted to be his.


As the wave swept through me I lost sense of where I was and what happened. Perhaps I cried, perhaps I just held my breath. I surrendered and in that moment, I wanted to surrender.


When I looked at the fire, when my body didn't tremble as much and my legs were not as weak, I saw him sit by the fire. He looked at me. He was changed. He was beautiful in a way I had not seen before. I knew I was changed. I knew I was not the same any more.


He looked at me and I saw that gaze again. I saw it in his eyes as he looked at me, looked at my body. I knew then, that I was changed.


6 comments:

Paul said...

Janice, an allegory of submission, it is a stripping away of pretence, bearing your soul to your Dom. The intimate touch which symbolises her full submission.
Never a dull moment within your strange imagination.
My beverage of choice is strong filter coffee.
Janice have a great Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Thank you for the pleasure you have and hopefully will continue to give me with your writing.
Warm hugs,
Paul.

Mina said...

Hello Dear Janice, I thought to come by since we are linked buddies.

The story is a good one and the context is enough for us to visualise the setting and more importantly her feelings of what is happening to her.

I enjoy how often the phrase, "I was naked" or similar is used repeatedly to never let us forget she is bared completely. Even to her soul at the end. Nothing is hidden from his gaze or touch.

It is very sweet that he touches her gently, there is time for whatever he wishes, but this gentleness breaks her down quicker than anything else could have.

Hugs
Mina

Ofia said...

Very well done. You held emotion through the entire story. I enjoyed reading it.

Janice said...

Dear Paul, thank you for your comment. I like this: '...stripping away of pretence, bearing your soul to your Dom'. I think this one is about not having a choice, as well. But that can be a good thing, if you think about it. I would have a nice cup of tea, Darjeeling perhaps, or Oolong.

Dear Mina and welcome! I do thought the nakedness (nudity?) to be a symbol of being open and bared (besides the fact that it is sexy...giggles) and that it includes the soul. It is really the gentleness and the pleasure that makes her yield, isn't it?


Dear Ofia, thanks for your compliment...smiles.

Hugs

Janice

Ollie said...

A lovely piece Janice, We didn't need the context as the feelings are quite universal.

Paul is right, it is about the stripping away of pretence, and the regular use of "naked" reminds us of this, but the physical nakedness is merely one aspect, the increasing emotional nakedness she must endure is probably more terrifying.

Ollie said...

Oh, and mine's a nice cup of tea too