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

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

Advertisement

Then slowly—so slowly she could stop me if she wanted—I slide my hand lower. Down between her legs where she's been silently begging for attention since the first strike landed.

Her hips buck up immediately, instinctive and desperate. Chasing any friction I might offer. Looking for more contact, more pressure, anything to ease the unbearable ache I've built inside her.

I don't give it to her.

Instead I spread her open with both hands. Gently pull her cheeks apart so I can see everything. Her pussy gleaming wet in the late afternoon light filtering through the trees. Her tight little asshole clenching reflexively under my scrutiny. Both holes on display, vulnerable, and exposed, and mine.

My cock throbs so hard against my zipper it borders on actual pain.

Christ. She's soaked. Absolutely dripping. The evidence of her arousal has literally run down her inner thighs, leaving glistening trails on her skin.

All from my hand. From being spanked, and denied, and put exactly where I want her.

She makes this desperate, broken sound as I lean down and put my mouth on her. Half sob, half moan. The kind of noise that goes straight to my dick and makes my balls tighten.

My tongue slides between her folds and into a sweet, slick pool of her arousal. It flows onto my tongue, floods my mouth with her taste—salt and musk and something uniquely, addictively her.

Fuck.

She tastes even better than I imagined.

"Master," she gasps.

I force myself to pull back. I want to tell her that this is far more demanding of me than it is her—because I want to fuck every hole she has right now. Right here. Sixty feet up in the air.

But I'm never going to tell her that. Not during a game. I need her to be afraid. I need her to think I'm indifferent. And I need her to do everything I tell her anyway. So I simply say, "No."

I stand and begin unfastening her ankle cuff.

"Wait—what are you—are you letting me go?"

The hope and terror mixing in her voice is perfect.

I release her wrist next.

She stays bent over the beam for a moment, like she doesn't trust that she's actually free to move. Then she slowly turns her body to face me. Her eyes are huge. Wet. Pupils blown wide with arousal and confusion. "I don't understand."

"Station One is complete. It's time to move to Station Two."

I pull her upright, steadying her when she wobbles.

She's making these soft, desperate sounds in the back of her throat. Little whimpers that tell me exactly how badly she needs relief. How close to breaking she is.

An addict looking for her fix.

Perfect.

I turn her body toward the plank she crossed earlier. The narrow strip of ironwood extending six feet across empty air to the adjacent tree.

"Walk."

Her eyes drop immediately. Down through the gaps in the platform. Down past sixty feet of nothing to the jungle floor far below.

Her breathing changes. Shallow. Rapid.

"I can't⁠—"

"You already did." I grip her shoulders. Firm enough to anchor her. Not gentle. "You crossed it to get the cuffs. You'll do it again to leave."

"That was different, I was crawling!"

I pet her hair, smoothing it back. Her face is glistening with sweat, her skin flushed pink with desire. If she only knew how much I wanted to fuck her right now.

"I'm asking you to walk six feet, my pretty little slut. You don't need to crawl."

She swallows hard. Looks down. Looks back up at me with pleading eyes. "Can't we just climb down the way I came up?"

"No."

My fingers dig into her skin. She's trembling under my hands now. The arousal-driven tremors mixing with genuine fear.

This part is real risk. I'm not going to let her fall. My hands are right here. I can catch her before she goes over the edge.

But if she does fall somehow—if she panics and jerks away from me, if her foot slips on a patch of moisture, if the wood gives under her weight—there's a net strung fifteen feet below. Heavy-duty cargo netting anchored to the surrounding trees.

It will catch her.

But the canopy is thick between here and there. Branches, vines, dense foliage she'll slam through on the way down. The net will stop her from dying. It won't stop her from getting hurt.

Bruises. Scrapes. Possibly worse.

She doesn't know about the net. She thinks it's sixty feet of empty air to the ground.

"Master, please⁠—"

"Look at me."

She drags her eyes up from the drop, looking over her shoulder until her eyes lock onto mine. Her pupils are still wide, but now tears are gathering at the corners. Her beautiful plump lips are parted and trembling.

Christ, she's beautiful when she's terrified.

"You're going to walk across that plank," I tell her. Flat. Matter of fact. "You're going to do it now. And you're not going to fall."

"How do you know I won't⁠—"


Advertisement

Advertisement