Isbre
Isbre
By Peter "WhiteFire" Torkelson
Copyright (C) 2006 - 2007
DRAFT WARNING:
This is a work in progress. It may or may not ever be edited. As such it will have especially egregious abuses of the English language. If you are an English major or lover of the language, please run screaming now.
DISCLAIMER:
This story contains (but is not limited to) the following elements that may be considered offensive by some or all people: Bondage, anal sex, non-consensual sex perpetrated by weather effects, outdoor nudity, poor grammar, anthropomorphic characters in sexual situations, abrupt perspective shifts, stereotypes, and a lack of realism on some or all events portrayed.
If this would offend you, well, I warned you. If you are too young in your local or national fascist regime to read pornography, stop reading right here. Then stop pretending you have a sexuality until you ARE allowed to read it. And try and remember this when you have kids and are voting.
DISTRIBUTION:
This text may be distributed electronically for personal, not-for-profit use, as long as you do not remove or modify these credits, the copyright notice, or any part of the story in any way. All other rights are reserved by the author.
Also don't send it to my mother. :)
If you wish to archive this story, please contact me at [email protected]
ISBRE
Isbre spotted the familiar private property sign and he felt a thrill run through him as he walked past it to the spot. He looked around nervously one last time, but as usual there was no one to be seen in the woods.
He dropped his backpack, and peeled off his shirt. The thrill and butterflys in his stomach growing started to grow as it went over his head and was tucked into his backpack. He started unbuttoning his shorts, and as he did realized it was a bit cooler out than he was used to from how quickly his nipples stiffened in the air. Slipping out of the shorts showed that he was not wearing anything under them. That left him wearing nothing but sandals that laced part way up his chins.
There was an old wooden box that was half buried in the dirt, and concealed by bushes. He pushed them aside, and gave one last look around before he opened it, just to be sure he was alone. He pulled out the smaller pack from the one he had been wearing, and put it on, and then placed the one with his clothes, wallet, keys, and everything but what he needed into the box. He pulled the lid back into place, and shook the bush a little to make it look natural again. The dirty lid made it blend in perfectly.
He always reflected what a lucky find it was. He only found it because he was trying to see if there was a way through those particular bushes. He had no idea why it was there, but it suited his needs perfectly.
Taking a deep breath, he left those belongings behind, and started the walk up through the forest. There was still a way to go, and he wanted to get there before it got too late, especially with how cool the air was against his fur today.
Isbre was a simple tabby, lightly built as the type go, with a pelt that smoothed the edges of his body. That, on top of his already slender form, gave him a somewhat androgynous look. Nude, though, his gender was plain.
His fur was grey, with a white underbelly, hands and feet. Darker stripes radiated out from his back, curving around his torso, reaching half way around his sides. They thickened at his spine, where they all merged into a solid stripe down his back. His tail was much the same.
It was a bit over two miles hike up the almost hidden box canyon, the entrance to it was quite narrow, and he had to pick his way carefully along the stream that poured out of it. It opened up shortly after that into a large forested bowl shape, with a wide clearing in the center.
He approached the edge of the clearing, and as he always did, looked around carefully. He had never seen anyone here, just small wildlife, but still, he was nude, and about to step into the open. The nervous feeling also aroused him, it always had.
There was nothing to be seen, but that didn't stop him from imaging eyes on him as he stepped out into the clearing, looking up at the forest that curved up like an amphitheater around the smooth stone slab that served as his stage. He felt his sheath stir, and by the time he reached that stone, he was starting to show the flesh of his shaft.
He checked, and the four stakes he had left here were still firmly screwed into the ground, with their metal eyes resting just above it, at each corner of the nearly square stone. The thing looked like some sort of alter left here ages ago by some sort of druids. From that small pack he took out two ropes, and he tied them to the stakes, tossing the rest of the length up onto the stone.
He took off his sandals before getting out the other two ropes, saving that for the last possible minute. He spread his toes in the grass as each came off, making a soft purr at the feeling. He tucked them into the pack, and walked over to the place above the stone that he liked to put it out of sight.
Sitting on the edge of the stone he pulled out a plug, one with an inflatable base, and he dribbled a packet of lube over it. It was enough to stretch him, make him work for it, but not too difficult. He took it while kneeling on the center of the stone, he knew there was no one watching him, but it felt like it as moans escaped his lips. Panting softly, he pumped up it's base, making it snug inside him, and undid the squeeze handle from it, making it mostly hidden under his tail.
He was at this point fully erect, aroused enough to not think too much at what he was to do next.
Finally he pulled the last two ropes out. They were wrapped in a thermal blanket, which dripped a little as he found the ends. At one end of each rope he had frozen a knot in ice, once that would unravel easily on it's own, but was held solid by the ball of ice around it. He threaded each through the eye at the end of the stakes, and gave them solid tugs to assure himself they were secure, and that the ice would not give.
Laying out on the stone, he started with his ankles, wrapping the rope around each one several times before tieing a knot that he knew he could not slip. He then scooted up to the center of the stone, which made him spread his legs wide, until those ropes were tight.
Legs bound, he moved onto his arms. He had to stretch, carefully measuring out where he would need to tie the slip knot so he could reach it when he was ready. Then he went to work on his other wrist, tying a similar knot to the one around his ankles.
There was one last thing to do before he committed himself to this. Again, with three limbs spread out and bound, it was a stretch to reach, but he got his hand under himself, and flicked the switch on the base of the plug, turning on the vibrator it contained. He gasped and panted with his eyes closed for a few minutes, resting back against the stone as it assaulted him from the inside. It was a very intense toy, and he was never quite sure how long he would be trapped with it on.
That just made him desire it even more.
He scooted into place, dead center of the rock, and reached out for the last rope. He worked his fingers through it, and wiggled until he had it around his wrist. Then he looked around at the forest around him as if he expected someone to magically appear, and as always, no one did. And as always, it never stopped the feeling that there were eyes on him.
The feelings he had never quite understood welled up inside him strongly then, this was the moment when he started it, really. The moment he tugged that knot so he could not get it undone. He was scared, and so very aroused, and his tailtip was making quick flicks with both. He took a deep breath, and then did it. balling up his hand into a fist and pulling it up, and then tugging firmly on the rope a few times.
The knot tightened, a knot carefully chosen so that it would be impossible for him to loosen with out his other hand. In that moment, he had that feeling that he got when he was so close to orgasm, a tightening in the stomach, a rush through his body. So close. It was always so close. He wondered if some day he would climax at that moment.
Once that moment had eased a bit, he set about the last part of the ritual. He grasped the ropes in his hands, and he strained against them as hard as he could, squirming and struggling. It only took him a few moments, but it was important to know he could not just pull free.
That he was completely helpless. Alone. Bared to the world and at it's mercy.
For a while he spent his time looking around his surroundings, and down at himself, just soaking up where he was and the position he was in, and then, inevitably, he layed his head back and closed his eyes, feeling every little gust of wind over his body as it passed over the bare flesh of his erect and very damp shaft, and his nipples, and how it ruffled his fur.
And he fantasized of so many things, of being found like this, what might happen if he was. He was completely wrapped up in it, every little sound around him making him tense as if someone might be there. He didn't even realize it was getting overcast until the first drop of rain struck one of his nipples.
His eyes flicked open, at first thinking someone had touched him with a fearful gasp, but then looking up at the sky, he realized what was happening. It was very sporadic at first, a few drops here and there as the edge of the cloud eased over the valley, and as steep as it was, he could not see how big it was.
He nibbled at his lower lip, this was not in the forecast for today. And the cloud was darkening as it moved over his helpless body.
The drizzle grew stronger, as did the wind, and his breath quickened nervously. He gave the ropes a good tug to see if they had gotten lose yet, but he knew it was way too soon for the ice to have melted enough to let him free.
Then the sheets of rain came, splashing over him with more force, making pitterpatters around his body as it struck stone and grass, and his naked form. It was not as cold as he feared, though certainly cool enough to make him shiver a bit as it poured over him.
Soon his fur was slicked over his body, and he felt every heavy drop as it struck him. He had to close his eyes as water washed over his face, leaving him to just feel what was happening. Those drops assaulted his body with out mercy, striking over not only his pelt and face, but his sensitive nipples, his rigid shaft, and his ballsac between his spread thighs.
He stopped worrying about the cold after a while, he didn't think it would be enough to cause concern. And he was becoming more and more distracted by the intimate touches of the heavy drops over him, how it drove home how helpless he was. This is not something he would have chosen to happen, but he could not stop it now.
It was slow in building, but between the caress of this uncaring lover, and the throbbing inside his stretched rear, he started to grow more aroused than he ever had playing like this. He found himself pressing his chest out to bare it to the rain, as if to beg it to strike his sensitive nipples. His tensing made his shaft twich over his belly, and soon he was panting with water dripping into his open muzzle.
The bright flash and almost immediate thunderclap made him scream out in shock. Then the meaning of what was happening to him struck... he was wet, exposed and helpless in the middle of a field, in a lighting storm.
The terror that gripped his heart served to fuel his arousal as his body was caressed head to toe in water that could prove deadly. Several more bright flashes followed, but the thunderclaps were a little more distant, perhaps on other places around the mountain.
He was almost panicking when it happened. There was a flash so bright that it was blinding even through his closed eyelids, and a clap of thunder that followed instantly, deafening him. He screamed and climaxed in that moment, his slim body jerking at the ropes as his shaft shot his cum over his stomach, just to be washed away by the rain.
He had held off all week for this, like he had done every week he could steal away to do this. He had never cum this hard, ever, nor been as terrified as he was doing it. Usually he had to wait until he got a hand free to jerk himself off... but not today.
The climax lasted like it never has before, either, and once he was spent he was gasping for breath, dazed and almost having passed out.
The storm, as if it knew it had pleased it's incidental lover, tapered off shortly after, and the sky cleared again, and it was some time before he even thought to test his restraints again, and he found the give that meant he could jerk the knot free, which he did.
With the rope still around his wrist, he jerked off. And then again, until his balls ached from it. He turned off the toy, and rested there a while on the damp stone, soaked to the bone, and not feeling the cold at all, before he freed himself.
He washed off in the stream, which was cold, and somewhat brought him back to his senses, and he hiked out shortly after.
And yet again, he was unaware of the eyes that followed him out of the clearing, only thinking the feeling was his imagination.