Willing Chaff – Story Fodder Read Online J.A. Huss

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark Tags Authors: J.A. Huss Advertisement

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He's going to spank me.

He's going to make me climb up there, restrain myself, and then he's going to⁠—

My pussy clenches.

Oh god.

I picture it. His hand coming down hard on my bare ass while I'm bent over a beam sixty feet in the air, helpless and exposed and completely at his mercy. Will he use his palm? A crop? That leather paddle I wrote about in Prey?

Will he make it hurt?

Or will he alternate—pain and pleasure, the way he did at the mansion when he spanked me and fingered me at the same time until I didn't know which sensation to focus on, until my brain short-circuited and I came so hard I blacked out?

I watched that footage so many times.

Sitting in my glamping tent, wearing his Harvard shirt, laptop balanced on my knees. I'd replay the part where he straps me to the exam table. The part where he makes me recite my own story while fucking me with a pen and his fingers. The part where I squirt for the first time in my life and sob afterward because I didn't know my body could do that.

I watched it until I memorized every angle. Every camera view. The way my face looked when I came. The way his masked face looked when he watched me fall apart.

I want him to touch me like that again.

I need him to.

Even if it means climbing this nightmare tree.

Even if it means I might actually die of a heart attack halfway up.

I grab the rope ladder.

It swings under my weight, unstable and terrifying, but I don't let go.

One rung. Then another.

My arms shake. My legs shake. Everything shakes.

The ground falls away beneath me and my stomach lurches but I keep climbing because if I stop I'll think about how high I am, and if I think about it I'll freeze, and if I freeze I'll fall and⁠—

Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look fucking down.

I look down.

The clearing is so far away it doesn't even look real anymore. Just green blur and shadows and oh god oh god oh god⁠—

Keep climbing.

Rung, after rung, after rung.

My palms are slick with sweat. The rope burns against my skin. My thighs tremble with the effort of keeping myself steady.

When I finally haul myself over the edge of the platform, I collapse face-down on the wood, gasping.

The planks are warm under my cheek. Rough. Real.

I made it.

I'm not dead.

Yet.

When I can breathe again, I lift my head.

There's a narrow plank extending out from the main platform—maybe eight feet long, two feet wide. At the end, a wooden box with a latch.

Behind me, closer to the trunk, a thick beam mounted horizontally between two branches. Sturdy. Waist-height. With metal eyebolts screwed into the wood on either side.

I know exactly what those are for.

Next to the beam, another card.

Of course.

I crawl over—I'm not standing up, fuck that, I'm staying as low as possible—and read it.

Walk the plank. Retrieve your restraints. Return to the beam. Bend over it. Secure your right ankle to the eyebolt on the right. Secure your left wrist to the eyebolt on the left. Wait for your Master.

My hands won't stop shaking.

I look at the plank.

Then at the box.

Then down at the ground, which is so far away I can barely process the distance.

He wants me to walk out there.

Over open air.

To get handcuffs.

So I can restrain myself.

And wait for him to come punish me.

I crawl to the edge of the plank. Test it with one hand. It doesn't move. Solid. Bolted down, probably. Safe.

Probably.

He never said I had to stand. Well, walk the plank kind of implies it. But there was no rule against crawling.

Don't look down.

I let out a breath and inch forward.

You're not going to fall.

I make it to the box. Flip the latch. Inside there are black leather cuffs lined with soft padding.

I grab them, turn around, drop to my knees, and crawl slowly back across the plank. A bird flies through the trees, scaring the fuck out of me, and I wobble. My fingers grip the plank tight.

Calm down, Scarletta. You're three feet away. Three feet away…

I hold my breath, gripping the wood so tight, I can feel the splinters breaking my skin. But slowly, I cross that last bit of distance and reach the beam.

I blow out a breath… this is it.

The moment where I can still choose to climb back down. To walk away. To say no, this is insane, I'm not doing this.

But I don't want to walk away.

I want to bend over this beam and wait for him.

I want to feel his hand on my ass. His voice in my ear. His control wrapping around me like a second skin.

I want to surrender.

I buckle the right ankle cuff around myself first. Clip it to the eyebolt. Test the hold.


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