{"sf1_id":710280,"sf2_id":null,"title":"Cassandra IV","author":"SnowDrag0n","words":1926,"posted_at":"2014-05-27T09:52:00.000Z","tags":["Alternate Society","Forest","Ghost Town","Humiliation","Hybrid","M/solo","Male","Near Future","Personal Redemption","Sci-Fi","Series","Solo","buttplug","hiking"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/710280-cassandra-iv","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/710280","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=710280\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"","content":"Wreath stumbled uncaring towards the fringes of the forest, the\nbranch strewn floor hauntingly uninviting with Cassandra's badly fitted suit\nsqueezing uncomfortably across his shoulders, the plug slipping half out and\nrubbing against his raw sphincter with every jarring movement of his legs.\nFollowed by the jeering laughter of his tormentors, the only\nthought crossing Wreath's mind was distance. As far, and as fast, as possible.\nIn his haste he forgot to check his direction; Wreath was heading away from the\nwoods cottage, and away from the sprawling estate, deeper into the wilderness\nwith the weather closing in quickly overhead, clouds threatening heavy rain.\nWhispers heard in his younger days whirled around in\nWreath's mind, bringing him up short, panting heavily. Stale sweat clung to his\nhair, dripping down the collar of the suit. He pulled on the lock, trying to\ndislodge it from the zip, or failing that, rip the zip off entirely. This thing\nneeded to come off; He needed freedom of movement, and shelter for the night.\nAfter another hour of walking Wreath was broken. His legs ached,\nthe leather chafed. Any possible solace at the easier path he had found left\nhim full of foreboding; An overgrown road, thick with roots and dead grass, led\naway through the sheets of rain to gods knew where. \"Maybe the rumors about a\ndead city here are wrong, maybe this is just an old road to an outpost, or\nsomething\" He reasoned with himself, as exhaustion drove him to shelter in the\nlee of an aging pine, fear keeping him awake.\nMid morning dragged on, giving way to afternoon as Wreath sat\nin abject misery, alternately pulling hard on the lock and halfheartedly\nrubbing himself through the thin leather. The needs of the body eventually\nbrought him out of his stupor, the shame and humiliation waiting back home\nmaking the decision for him. Onwards, to see the supposed ruins, and finding a\nway out of the damn suit. \nWreath wandered along the road, watching the afternoon sun\nsink through the clouds warily. Night was drawing close, and he had yet to find\nshelter or food. A painful chase after a fat Coney through the brush\nsurrounding what he now considered to be \"His\" road left him with nothing but\nsaliva to ruminate on. He needed to reach what looked like the blasted remains\nof an old roadhouse a mile or so ahead before resting. Wreath knew the next time\nhe sat would be for hours, well into the night. He could only force so much\nfrom his pampered body.\nThe building sat in the middle of an old concrete mat, weeds\npushing through the cracks, an unidentifiable roughly square hunk of rusted\nmetal sitting to one side. The door was long gone, as well as much of the roof.\nThe rafters had fallen in, leaving a mess of broken shingles covering rotten,\nstinking furniture inside. An old counter top ran the length of the back of the\nmain room, which Wreath gratefully crawled under, getting away from the driving\nrain. \n Wreath was perking up; Foul, but reasonably dry, secure\nquarters for the night, a few choice prizes after rustling through the debris\nlittering one of the back rooms. Someone, ages back, had forgotten an aluminum\ntravel case there, which he was lucky enough to happen upon and successfully\npry open with a snapped off bit of rebar from an aborted attempt to rebuild\npart of the damaged structure.\nWreath threw aside the rotten muck of what once had been\nfood in favor of a sloshing bottle, which he forced open and gratefully\nslugged at. The taste of stale water ran down the back of his throat, filling\nhis belly as he sat back and contemplated the case in the fading light. An old\ntorch, batteries no doubt dead, nail file, and a change of clothes that smelled\nterrible after close contact with the forgotten food. A fat folder contained\nthe last of the items; matches, cigarettes and an assortment of small saws.\n\"Some sort of hardware salesman, then, on the road. Thank fuck he left these little\nprizes behind\" Wreath crowed, arms at an awkward angle behind his head as he\nbegan to work on the thin metal loop of the lock holding the zip in place. \nPeeling the leather catsuit off his body slowly, Wreath\ntried not to rub the blisters forming on the inside of his thighs, which itched\nlike fire. Half an hour of hard labor had been met with success! The jagged\nremains of the lock lay broken at his feet, covered in saw marks. Old clothes\nwere washed in a puddle, removing much of the smell. Hungry, tired and sore,\nWreath lay on the cold floor, murmuring words of solace to himself as his\nfinger found its way across his hard belly, and rubbed gently at his slit,\ncoaxing his soft cock out of hiding.\nWreath looked across his body in the meager light as he\nstarted rubbing himself, running a finger over the top of his pale cock,\nadmiring the contrast against the small, hard blue scales. His thoughts jumped inevitably\nto Cassandra as he started to harden, despite the recent abuse he had received at\nher hands. There was no denying it; He was fixated on her. Wanted her, despite\nthe attachment she had formed with Azure, her new protector.\nThe need for sleep warred with carnal desire and won, after\na hard fought struggle. Wreath left himself unsatisfied, hand covered with a\nsheen of sticky ichor as he rolled over, lying with his back against the inner\nwall of the counter, trying to conserve what warmth he had left as he fell into\na fitful sleep. The first time he had slept in the wild, away from his soft bed\nand friendly playmates in years.\nMorning announced itself with glorious heat. The sun burned\naway the remaining few scraps of cloud, shafting through the massive gaps in\nthe broken roof, warming the counter and sending plumes of condensation skyward\nas the clothes stretched out across it began to dry off. Wreath stirred in his\nprivate little hovel, luxuriating in the morning warmth as the shivers wracking\nhis body slowly subsided. \nCarefully lighting one of the stale cigarettes, Wreath stood\nand surveyed what had been his kingdom for the night. Rain had washed away much\nof the grime, and soaked into the material of the old furniture. Water was\nstill pooled in the far corner of the room, where the concrete slab it had been\nbuilt on sagged into the soft earth. \n After filling the bottle in the clear puddle, he dressed in\nthe worn slacks and faded maroon shirt left by the would-be salesman. Wreath\ndumped what remained of his belongings pack into the case, and slung the\nleather catsuit over his shoulder. Cassandra would wear it for him again, one\nday. His shame would allow no compromise.\nBack on the road, Wreath set a brisk pace in his more\ncomfortable clothing. Eager to see what lay ahead, he could only glimpse the\ntops of broken buildings sitting in what he assumed was a small dell in the far\ndistance, near the base of the mountains. \"One quick look, a day, maybe two.\nThen back, to rebuild. And take what is mine\" Wreath thought, repeating it to\nhimself like a mantra, covering the complaints of his empty stomach as he loped\nonwards.\nDesiccated buildings began to appear alongside the overgrown\nroadway, windows covered with old wood, doors hung with condemned signs. Nobody\nhad been this way in decades, at least. The rumor went that the old city had once\nserviced the needs of several small mines, during its heyday. The mines ran\ndry, the town was abandoned. Usual story. The only part Wreath couldn't\nunderstand (As the rumors were no doubt true, he could see the proof of them\nwith his own eyes) was why the small city had been all but erased from history,\nwhy the denizens of the estate spoke of it only in whispers. \nOn the very outskirts of the city, the tarmac spread into a\nfour lane monstrosity covered with cracks and silt. A nearby stream had changed\ncourse, gurgling slowly over the expanse of faded tar. To his surprise, a\nrudimentary bridge made of planks and rusted iron rods stood guard over the stream.\nThe area was not meant to have anyone living on it, as it was still part of\nestate grounds, if on the outskirts. Squatters might have taken up residence,\nbut with the well patrolled perimeter, he doubted it.\nProceeding warily, Wreath began to look for the mysterious\nbridge builders. Signs were everywhere - A small park outside what might have\nonce been a school bore signs of cultivation, straight rows of something akin\nto lettuce growing in weed free soil. A path trampled through the ferns led to\na lean-to constructed against the side of the school, looking much like\ntemporary accommodation that had become permanent. \nFinding nobody, Wreath decided to make himself at home. He\nrifled through the blankets in the small shelter, coming up with bits of dried\nmeat that he wolfed down greedily, eating for the first time in two days. He\ntook a sturdy looking pair of boots, stuffing the toes with a shred of material\npulled from the blanket, as they were a size too big for him. \nHissing gleefully, he picked through the assortment of\nknives on the shelf hung badly at the back of the shelter. Stuffing a small\nhomemade piece with a creatively sharpened length of recycled steel into his\nwaistband, he backed out of the lean-to, planning on making his escape. Wreath\nhad seen what he had come to see; He had no wish to cross the owner of the\npitiful existence out here.\nHe ran towards the tarmac, dumping the catsuit along the\npath as he went. \"A present for the sad fuck staying here\" Wreath thought,\ngiggling as he hurried over the bridge, making for the safety of the treeline.\nPlans swam through his mind as he cleared the stream, moving to the side of the\nroad so as to be out of direct sight of anyone coming up behind. How was he\ngoing to explain his sojourn in the forest to the others? Maybe, if he was\nlucky, Azure and Cassandra would be quiet about their shared escapade, giving\nhim time to plot, time to come up with a suitable punishment. His cock\nhardened, head slipping moistly out of his slit at the happy thought of beating\nthe pair of them into submission. \nThe boots chafed but increased his speed greatly; without\nhaving to worry over every concealed hole or bit of rusted wire snagging his\nbare feet, Wreath could run unhindered, ignoring the painful blisters covering\nhis inner thighs. Late evening would bring him back to the estate lawns, where\nhe could dump the crap he had been hauling with him all day, and walk in\ntriumphant. In his mind, Wreath had beaten the wild on his own, driving back\nthe forces of nature and conquering feral strangers in their absence.\nA howl of rage, echoing over the broken city skyline drew\nWreath to greater speed. He had no wish to meet the previous owner of his new\nboots, not until he could come back and pay the squatter in kind. Cassandra he\nwould keep for himself, but Azure? Azure he could give away, maybe, to settle\nan unpaid debt. Vengeance is sweet, after all.\n"}