Ascension

Sometimes I just love myself. I guess that isn't politically correct, but what
the heck. Every now and then, I'm a genius. This was such a time...

Kate was a daring girl. She always challenged me, not least when it came to
bondage feats. Of course, there were times when she cursed herself, regretting
her bold words, but on the whole, she was very content with our relationship
and our games.

Well, this particular evening, we were out in the wilderness, living in a tent,
exploring ways to tie a girl to trees. As the afternoon dimmed, I thought it
was time to launch my newest invention. I had Kate stand in front of me.
Starting off with a few standard precautions, I tied her wrists palms together
behind her back. I also secured her elbows, her ankles and knees. The blindfold
went on, as did a large ballgag with a leather seal covering her mouth.

Next I tied some strands of rope around her torso, just below and above her
breasts. She was a little surprised that I didn't include her upper arms as I
usually do, but I thought she might understand why later. I then tied a long
piece of rope around the two previous windings, forcing them to meet in front,
thus hugging her breasts and making them pout out.

I then took a short pause in the tying to caress and kiss her helpless body.
When her moans told me she was very eager for more, I produced two soft latex
dildos. They both had built-in vibrators powered by batteries in manoeuvre
boxes attached to the end of a cord. When I inserted the largest one in her
moist love cave, all I got from her was a deep sigh from anticipation. But when
I started to intrude her rear with the smaller one, she started to buck. I had
never before used that part of her, and she had never asked me to, so it was
new to us both. Keeping my left arm in a firm grip around her hips, I slowly
proceeded. Her resistance was only half hearted and I was able to achieve my
goal without too much struggle.

Next, I took the other end of the rope that I had tied between her tits, lead
it through her legs from behind, looped it around her waist and tied it in
front. Then I secured the powerboxes from her vibrators to her ankles with
tape.

It was time for my invention. I got a box from the trunk of my car. Placing it
on the ground next to Kate, I could tell she was curious. I opened it and
picked up its contents. First I carefully placed a large silk cloth on the
ground, undoing its folds until a large elliptic sack lay in front of Kate's
naked feet.

Next I got a bottle of gas. I opened the tap and lit the torch. I then crawled
to the silk sack and lifted the circular ring that was attached to the opening.
Being careful as not to set the silk on fire, I started to heat the air in the
sack. Slowly it swelled until it was fully inflated. I smiled to myself. This
small hot-air balloon was Kate's ticket to heaven.

I had been debating whether she would be blindfolded or not, but I had came to
the conclusion that the effect of her listening and wondering would be the
greatest. I could see her desperately wanting to know what was going on as I
allowed the balloon to slowly lift off from the ground. I then fastened the
rope from her tits leading through her legs to a safety hook hanging from the
ring that held the balloon's mouth opened. Next, I cinched a very long nylon
rope to her ankles and secured it to a pole I had earlier driven deep into the
ground.

Directing the torch into the balloon, I kept heating the air until the rope
started to lift her breasts upward and pull on her crotch. Finally I could see
her toes desperately reaching downwards in vain. She was lifted from the ground
until the rope from her ankles was stretched and she was kept down by nothing
but her anchor line. I then removed her blindfold and sat down in front of her
exposed body while she looked around and got the full comprehension of her
predicament.

I couldn't help laughing when I saw the miserable look in her eyes. This was
even worse then she had bargained for. The strain in the ropes around her tits
and through her crotch was very intense, and the prospect of being sent towards
the sky surpassed even her wildest dreams. I watched her fight her bonds,
humming through her gag and pleading me to be merciful with her big dark eyes.
Patiently I waited until I could see that humble look in her eyes and body that
told me she had given up hope. Being such a fighter and wildcat, it always
turned me on to see her admit defeat.

As I got up, I took a little silk banner from the box. It had clamps attached
to two of the corners and small weights attached to the other corners. I
attached the clamps to her nipples, smiling at her as she closed her eyes and
moaned. At least that was a sensation she was used to. Unfolding the banner, I
read its message to her:

"Sir Adrian Hunter, have fun! Return babe to tent at road end up north. John
Writer."

I then turned the heat up and held the torch to the opening of the balloon,
heating it up until I was confident Kate would reach new heights. Putting the
torch out, I untied the anchor line from the pole. Slowly I let Kate rise
toward the sky, holding her still until her ankles were in front of my face.
Kissing her lovely feet, I turned the two vibrators to maximum. Then I
continued to feed more rope, watching her twisting body rise higher and higher.

When almost all of the rope in my hand was gone, I knew she was about 40 feet
up. Slowly, I started to walk down a small trail leading to the cabin where I
knew Sir Adrian was celebrating his holiday.

The night was still and not much could be heard…a soft summer wind was playing
carefully among the leaves, and a distant owl was howling. Otherwise, all was
quiet, with the exception of an occasional desperate moan from Kate up above,
but generally the gag kept her noise low. When I reached the cabin at the shore
of a large lake, I proceeded as quietly as I could. As I passed a dimly-lit
window, I guessed Sir Adrian was there, nursing a drink or two. I went to the
front of the house and firmly tied the anchor line to the railing surrounding a
comfortable veranda.

Looking up, I threw a kiss to Kate whom I barely could see in the dark. Knowing
that she would eventually descend as the balloon got cold, I left her to her
fate and went back to our tent.

***

I hate being alone on holidays, especially the real ones that don't move around
to the nearest Monday or the fourth Thursday or however those silly Christians
figure out the date of their spring fertility festival. I never understood why
Easter makes them feel so guilty. Such a lovely, natural celebration of the
reproduction process, all those cute little bunnies fucking and
splendidly-pagan glorifications of the mother egg, mucked up with fables of
gruesome executions. Granted, I have my moments when it comes to depictions of
suffering, but never in my worst nightmares could I have dreamed up the concept
of crucifixion, much less force children to worship statues of their purported
Prince of Peace in such agony. And to think they call ME perverted…

So when a friend offered me the use of his mountain cabin for the long Fourth
of July weekend, I figured it was the perfect way to escape everything that
reminded me of what will never be. It sounded like the set of a fairy tale
directed by Spielberg…on the banks of a shimmering lake surrounded by a forest
so dense, insects had trouble squeezing between the pines. Miles from the
city's incessant intensities, it promised to be beatific to a fault. Upon
arrival, I was surprised to find that his portrait of his bucolic hermitage had
been uncharacteristically modest. The place was, as they say in my
neighborhood, totally whack.

After a long day broiling in the sun, followed by a feast doing likewise to
lesser creatures in the Weber, I found myself debating whether to build a fire
before settling down to make a serious dent in a bottle of Grey Goose…anything
for an excuse to light something in honor of my involuntary Independence Day. I
found plenty of logs in a hopper by the stone hearth, but proper kindling
seemed to be in short supply, so I went outside to root around for sticks and
bark and related dryrot before dusk completed its metamorphosis into dark.

I almost didn't notice the rope tied to the railing surrounding the deck. But
there was no mistaking the faint, yet very familiar, sound high above my head.

At first, I figured I was hallucinating. Too much sun playing tricks on a
fragile psyche. Then I looked up at the sky and saw something rather large
obscuring the panorama of early stars, not to mention what suspiciously
resembled a character in one of my stories doing an unlikely imitation of an
angel.

A gentle tug informed me that the rope was real, but "no fucking way," followed
by a serious reconsideration of my atheism, was my inelegant response to what I
found attached to its other end.

Thanks to fast-advancing delirium, not to mention darkness, it was quite a
struggle to untangle her from the balloon once she touched down on the deck. I
wrestled with the knots, and wondered distractedly what Akasha would do in a
situation like this…probably pull a stiletto out of the top of her thigh-high
boots or something similarly capable. I felt bad when the balloon floated away,
but only for a moment as I apprised what was obviously a sign from Mount
Olympus that the rest of my life was going to be excruciatingly dull after
tonight.

I squinted at the banner that hung from her nipples. "Sir" Adrian Hunter?
What's this "sir" shit? The only master/slave relationship I've ever been party
to involved stadium-size amplifiers chained together to provide entertainment
for teenagers. Then it dawned on me that someone knew I was here. But who? How?
And most importantly, why was he, or she, or whatever gender-impartial pronoun
is fashionable on s.s.b.b. this week, presenting me with a damsel in
considerable distress hovering over my holiday retreat wearing a blatant hint
to escalate hostilities?

Rational thought not being my strong suit at that exact moment, if ever, I
scooped her into my arms and carried her inside.

Once I saw her in the light, I realized the only thing that made sense in the
message flapping in front of her torso was the "babe" part. Good grief, even
with the gag, I could tell she was gorgeous, and that word failed miserably
when it came to describing her charms below her neck. I walked around her
slowly as she stood trembling in the middle of the living room, gaping at her
curves like someone who just woke up from a lobotomy.

Finally, I noticed the telltale wires leading from her crotch to the boxes
taped to her ankles.

"Where are your manners?" I admonished myself as I knelt down, switched them
off, and began untying the ropes around her legs, then everything else except
her wrists. She seemed to get a little woozy after I unclamped her nipples,
which gave me a welcome opportunity to touch her radiant skin, but I got the
distinct impression she didn't really want me to slip out the vibrators.

I hesitated before unbuckling the gag. What if she screamed bloody murder? Like
the squirrel family up the road was going to call 911? Given that this
situation was the furthest possible thing from safe and sane, I decided we
might as well at least make it consensual.

"Hi, are you OK, how did you get here, weren't you cold up there, do you want
something to drink?" I babbled, making my usual bewitching first impression.
She simply nodded yes, so I scurried off to fetch a glass of water.

After her thirst was sated, I stared at her face in silence until I composed
myself into a semblance of my laughable reputation as a steel-eyed, ruthless
and diabolical dom.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth every
time."

She took a deep breath and nodded her assent.

"What's your name?"

"K-kate."

"Do you want to be here, Kate?"

Thankfully, she replied "yes" without hesitation.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Y-you're Adrian Hunter. The writer. On the Internet."

So far, so good. "Do you know what I write about?"

Big gulp. "Y-yes."

"Which of my stories do you like best?" Always the compliment slut…

She thought for a moment. "The ones about J-jennifer."

Shit, what is it about that girl anyway? Here I spend hours crafting what I
consider to be thoughtfully-overwrought tales divining the true nature of
romantic restraint, and the one piece everyone seems to cite as my "Layla" is
an embarrassingly immature collection of noncon potboiler stroke jokes I
scribbled years ago.

On the other hand…

"Funny you should mention her. I'm working on a new chapter to accompany an
illustrated version of the original series. I figure if Mel Gibson and Danny
Glover can come back for a fourth installment of 'Lethal Weapon' this summer,
so can Jennifer and her friends."

I paused and stepped out of her line of vision. When my heartbeat finally
returned to a manageable pace, I came up close behind her, placed a hand around
her waist and pulled her hard against me while reaching around to find one of
her nipples.

My mouth an inch away from her ear, I whispered, "do you want to help me finish
it?"

I couldn't be 100 percent sure if her loud moan meant "yes" or "keep squeezing
like that," but either answer was fine.

I moved my hand down from her waist until it reached her downy softness, then
pressed my fingers inside her. It didn't take long before she started
twitching, followed closely by shaking, convulsing, gasping and groaning. I
allowed my tongue to slither into her ear, enjoying the escalation of girl
squeaks and squeals as she began to climax repeatedly and rather violently.
When I felt her legs begin to give out, I pulled my hand away, knelt down, and
retrieved the gag from the floor.

Without a word, I pushed the ball back into her mouth, jerked the straps around
her head, and buckled it tight, then stalked off to the kitchen to retrieve a
tumbler and several cubes of ice. Seating myself on the couch directly in front
of her, I filled the glass with vodka and sat back to contemplate my rather
stunning change of plans for the evening.

How typical, I rued, to find myself in this exceedingly rare situation with ye
olde bag of tricks gathering dust on the top shelf of my closet. I considered
scavenging the cabin for additional supplies like a mop to employ as a
makeshift spreader bar, or perhaps the inevitable basket of clothespins one
tends to find in homes without dryers. Gazing at the pile of ropes and
accessories on the floor, then at Kate, I concluded things could be worse.

I chuckled softly to myself. Oh, who's kidding who here? Utterly, completely
alone in a charming cabin nestled in a pastoral wonderland, then a beautiful
girl floats down from heaven, literally gift-wrapped with my name on the card.

All I was really lacking, I almost said out loud, was some kind of whip or
crop. Then my vision drifted momentarily to the still-unlit stack of logs on
the fireplace, which brought to mind my abandoned quest for kindling, which
lead to thoughts of sticks, then saplings, and I suddenly recalled a childhood
fondness for whittling.

"I'll be right back," I said as I stood up to find a flashlight, my smile
perhaps scaring her a little.

Fifteen minutes later, I returned to find her standing exactly as I had left
her. Very impressive, I thought, as I sat down on the floor in front of the
hearth and started building a small pyre out of handfuls of brush and crumpled
newspapers under the wood. As I lit a match and applied it to the edge of the
combustible heap, I realized there was more than a distinct possibility that
Kate had been properly trained in this particular sport.

She probably didn't notice the collection of long green sticks that didn't make
it into the now-blazing inferno. As I watched the flames leap and lick the pile
of logs, it was all I could do to resist the urge to say "all in good time, my
pretty." First, I was going to do my best to live up to my guest's worst
expectations.

Kate's eyes followed mine as I looked up at the support beam running across the
length of the ceiling. I leaned over from the fireplace and selected a thin
hardcover book from the pile on the coffee table, then set it on the floor
directly under the thick timber.

Retrieving the larger of the two vibrators and what seemed to be the longest
length of rope from the floor, I clambered to my feet and faced her.

"Are you ready?"

She closed her eyes, which I took to be a yes.

"Very good. Spread your feet apart."

I pushed the entire length of the soft latex between her clenched thighs.

"Now," I growled.

As she parted her legs with a soft moan, I began rubbing and twisting the dildo
against her secrets until I presumed it was slick with natural lubrication.
Before she fully comprehended my intentions, I had already circled her and
pressed the tip an inch into her rectum.

"The worse you make it for you, the better it makes it for me."

It took less than a minute before the remainder disappeared inside her.

Even though she had been delivered to me in a serious state of plug, I could
tell by her panting that she wasn't used to this level of fullness.

I pointed at the book on the floor.

"Stand on top of it."

She took a few delicate steps as directed, pressing her feet together to
maintain her balance.

I looped the rope around her waist, knotted it in front, ran the remainder
between her legs, and tossed it over the top of the beam, quietly pleased that
the end dangled limply in front of her wide-eyed expression of exponential
trepidation.

The wooden chairs surrounding the dining room table looked sturdy enough, so I
pulled one next to her, then moved behind her and began untying her wrists.

Once they were free, I leaned over and whispered "last chance" into her ear.
When I received no discernible reply, I led her hands around to her front,
crossed her wrists, and wrapped them thoroughly with a longer piece of rope
from the floor.

I stepped up onto the seat of the chair and instructed her to lift her arms
over her head. Taking her bound wrists in one hand, I grabbed the end of the
rope hanging from the beam in the other, and starting looping the slack around
the crossed part until the line went completely taut. I tied off the remainder
with a knot that would frighten a sailor, hopped down, and placed the toe of my
shoe against the edge of the book she was standing on.

"Whoops," I said flatly as I pushed it out from under her feet, causing her to
drop down perhaps two inches. But the sudden strain on her crotch must have
made it feel like two miles.

Her toes scrabbled on the floor and found momentary traction, allowing her to
balance precariously by straining her arches like a ballerina, dispersing at
least some of her body's weight from the rope to her feet.

There has to be some string or twine around here, I muttered under my breath as
I wandered into the kitchen and starting searching the drawers and cupboards,
actually yelping "bingo!" when I came across a reel of fishing line. I grabbed
a pair of scissors from the knife rack and returned to find my new friend
wavering uneasily on her tiptoes.

A few snips removed the clamps from the banner, but they were soon restored to
their proper place around her swollen buds. I measured out two long pieces of
filament and tied the ends around her big toes. Fortunately, my benefactor had
been prescient enough to add weights to the bottom of his message, which I
detached and tied to the other ends of the fishing line. This made it easy to
toss them over the beam. Two knots later, her nipples were straining skyward
while the weights swung near her navel. Every time she moved a foot, several
laws of physics were demonstrated concurrently, and sometimes excessively.

I returned to the couch and took a long sip of France's finest while I
contemplated my next course of action. Doing nothing more than watching Kate
writhe definitely had a certain appeal, so I sat back and polished off my drink
before picking up the other vibrator off the floor.

I wondered if the soles of her feet were ticklish.

They were. But not as much as under her arms.

Her efforts to escape the buzzing made her dance like a marionette in the hands
of a child. At one point, an errant kick caught me square in the jaw and
knocked me backward onto the hardwood floor. She looked aghast and tried to act
chagrined, but I couldn't help laughing out loud at the telltale smirk that was
so obvious even behind the gag. This Kate probably gives her boyfriend, or
whatever, the fight of his life. What a treat it would be to enjoy her forever.

Rubbing my chin, I informed her she would have to pay for her misdemeanor. She
shot me a look that would have been accompanied by a stuck-out tongue under
different circumstances, but that quickly changed to one of alarm when I picked
up the control box attached to the vibrator in her ass.

"First, let's make sure we remove the temptation to try that little stunt
again."

I picked up the shortest piece of rope from the floor and began coiling it
around her ankles, saving the longer lengths for her knees and thighs. Once her
legs were secured, I nudged the dial on the box to its lowest setting, stood up
and went to look for the rest of my friend's fishing gear, confident I would
find a decent knife that was suitable for slicing the bark off the green
saplings I had collected earlier.

Those Swiss Army troops really had a clue, I thought to myself half an hour
later as I sat on the couch admiring my handiwork. I may have flunked out of
Boy Scouts, but the smooth finish on my makeshift switch was still impressive
for an amateur.

I was pretty sure she had deduced exactly what I was whittling long before I
tried a few practice strokes against the sofa cushion, but any doubts were
removed when I touched its tip against her stomach and slowly traced the
letters of my name on her shuddering flesh.

I reached into my back pocket and produced a bandanna that I had found in the
tackle box to cover her beseeching eyes. She soon learned to anticipate the
whistling, but the specific target was always a surprise.

By the time I was finished, we were both exhausted and slick with sweat. I
tossed what was left of the switch into the fire and used the scissors to cut
the fishing line above and below Kate's nipples, then quickly untied her legs
and finally the knot holding the harness rope around her waist, after which she
collapsed soundlessly into my waiting arms.

I carried her limp body into the bedroom and lay her on top of the comforter
covering the king-size mattress.

"This may hurt a little," I warned, but she hardly flinched when the clamps
came off. I rolled her onto her stomach and eased the vibrator out of her
backside, then removed the blindfold and unbuckled the straps holding the gag
around her head.

I presumed another glass of water was in order, but she surprised me by asking
for a sip of my Grey Goose instead. When she was finished, I picked up my tube
of suntan goo off the dresser, turned off the lights and climbed onto the bed
next to her.

I eased Kate onto her back and stretched her still-bound wrists over her head.
Starting with her toes, I methodically coated every inch of her aching body
with the cool, soothing lotion. When I sensed her setting sail for Neverland, I
positioned her on her side and lay down behind her with my arm around her
waist.

Despite her fatigue, her hands wandered down to her groin for one final
skyrocket display.

I reached down and pulled them away, tsk-tsking her impertinence.

"Nice try," I whispered, my fingers manipulating the knot between her wrists.
"But that's my job."

I pushed her onto her stomach and retied her hands behind her back, then
returned us to our original setting, only this time with my hand brushing ever
so lightly against her sex.

Kate sighed deeply and started grinding her hips against my crotch. Desperately
wishing there was something in my wallet besides frequent-flyer cards and
guitar picks, I pulled myself back a few inches and made "uh, uh" noises while
nuzzling her neck.

A minute later, I felt her hands groping for the fly of my shorts, then her
fingers started returning my favors.

Drifting into a state somewhere between rapture and unconsciousness, I found
myself grinning as I mentally planned a feast for three, wondering if a
different holiday menu might be more appropriate for this particular Fourth of
July celebration.

Perhaps something along the lines of Thanksgiving.