Cade Posted June 1, 2020 With the bitgag between her teeth and burlap sack over her head, she finds it hard not to feel frantic. She felt thankful she wore modest clothing today, although she had put on her jeans and long sleeve shirt more for warmth than fashion...it also allowed a minimal amount of discomfort in the position she finds herself in, thankfully. The cold metal shackles hold her wrists together in front of her naturally enough, but the pair around her ankles ***s her to sit on her bottom with knees bent before her. Having the restraints put in place was shocking enough; however, she did not begin to tremble until matching collar nipped at her neck and brace coiled her torso. It's not the chill of the bondage that haunts her as she sits in the dispassionate dark, listening for anything and only hearing her muffled sobs...the unmistakable click of what could only be locks being put into place at each point echos through her mind. She struggles vainly as her ankles are pulled, tumbling her onto her back. In the next moment, she finds hands tickling her underarms as she is lifted swiftly off the ground. The quick motion causes her head to spin and the thud of being placed on what must be a large wooden table only re-en***s her disorientation. The jingle of chain helps clear her thoughts and she realizes in glib relief that her hands and ankles are no longer linked to one another. The real surprise comes with the removal of the sack...as her eyes slowly regain focus she sees she is not only atop a large and sturdy wooden table, but she is seemingly chained to it: the length of chain from each of her appendages falls hidden behind each respective corner while chains dangle from either side of the brace innocently off the side. Unseen, but not unfelt, she realizes her collar is also tethered to a point at the head of the table...her stage. A slight tug at the chains show her that she has very limited mobility; certainly not enough to get off the table, certainly not enough to defend herself should she need to. Looking around, she sees him sitting close by, his eyes intent on her. She shies away as he stands and approaches her; to her surprise, his attention falls to the sides of the table. His focus draws her focus...before she can figure out where his thoughts are, the chain to her collar begins to taut, pulling her to the surface despite her best efforts. Soon, she finds her fingers digging at her neck, trying in vain to find any remote comfort from the collar, now holding her back flat against the table. To her horror, each chain begins to tense in unison, pulling each of her arms and legs to the table top. He stands over her thrashing form, surveying her bound limbs, watching as her only means of dissent is the bucking of her hips...up and back down against the tabletop. A smile twists his lips for a moment as a listless hand rubs his chin, stroking the hair grown there lovingly. He disappears again beside the table and the slack to the brace starts to disappear, also. In the next moment, she finds she has no mobility at all, no movement at all, to call her own. He stands over her again, laughing softly at her captured and still form. For all her exertion, all her fight, she only accomplishes spilling the drool that has been forming in her mouth around the gag, spilling it down her cheeks and into her hair. This discomfort is easily overlooked as a girl dressed in only a stark white apron and matching heels floats in; her shoulder length brown hair pulled back in pigtails and soft looking eyes seem unmoved by the scene before her. The slave's main focus should be to serve and her focus was on the sizzling iron skillet she balances in her hands by an over-sized wooden tray...as she approaches him with the bounty before her, he closes his eyes and simply sniffs at the air. With the mannerism of a hungry wolf finding a lamb to feast on, he opens and closes his mouth slightly, almost instinctual. Although the girl on the table could not see what was cooking, she did not miss the sinister smile that twitches at the edges of his lips as he tastes the air. He looks down on the serving girl, looks over her proffer, and with nimble fingers, slides a simple steak knife from beside the still crackling pan. He leans over and whispers something into the waitress' ear; she turns around with a smile on her face, walking from the room on the taps of stilettos. His eyes turn back to the girl on her stage, the knife her focus. She tries to shift as much as she is able, which turns out to be very little, as he raises the shining blade with it's serrated edge over her. A quick motion with his hand and the knife is lost under her shirt...although the teeth of the knife makes short work of the fabric, it serves more to tear and rip away the threads rather than actually slicing through them. Each new pass of the blade under the shirt slightly pricks her, making her breath catch sporadically. He opens her shirt up the front, mindful of her breasts...her bra keeps her from feeling the tip. Slowly, he traces across each of her collarbones, then makes his trip over each arm length. As he pulls the blade away, the shirt seems to lose it's conviction, slipping from her skin to the tabletop, forgotten. Then, he makes his way through her jeans, simply cutting from waist, clean down each leg. The denim shreds away without any problems, leaving her to her panties for security. At that, he steps back and looks over her blushing form. Although the white panties are a poor match for the black bra, it does not phase his enjoyment of her flesh heating visibly and trembling. Her wide, staring eyes seems to plead to him...begging him to stop this ***, but all she is able to do with her mouth is sputter saliva onto her face past the bit. He taps the tip of the knife against his chin, sizing her up very deliberately, with no concern for her modesty. After a breath longer, he returns to his work; first slitting away the shoulder straps of her bra, then slipping the cold steal between her breasts smoothly. With one quick upward movement, the bra springs open, leaving her tits to his examination. His eyes glance over her heaving chest, just long enough to take their fullness in, to memorize her nipples and any scratches he just created. His work is not finished, though, so his scrutiny is cast to her lower regions...to her final bastion of comfort. He doesn't cut her panties away, immediately. Instead, he cups her cunt with the palm of his hand, feeling her wetness and heat right through the cotton. His fingertips seem to fall right at her opening; once again, her breath catches as he prods through the fabric into her drooling pussy, now almost as wet and slippery as her face. The rude penetration seems to stir her, and as he starts to finger fuck her despite the barrier, she finds herself try to buck into his hand...she finds her body opening up to his brutal inspection. With practiced ease, he has three fingers pushing her panties into her hungry orifice, just enough for a good grip on her pubis. Exploiting this handhold, he pushes her firmly against the surface, ceasing all but the slightest gyration of her hips. As he slides the knife under each leg of the panties waistband, he feels her gush with each slice. He moves his hand away, but the ruined undergarment does not...her cunt seems to have a grip on the now soiled crotch. She spills her juices down over her asshole as he pulls the panties free...once he has them, he doesn't hesitate rubbing the soaked material over her face, smearing her spit all over her cheeks and brow. He starts pushing them into her mouth next, pressing them over the gag. Her tears start anew as she begins to taste herself. With the tip-tap of high heels, the serving girl returns...this time, atop the tray is a standard white plate. His smile seems resplendent as she makes her way to him. Again, she proffers him the items she's carrying; this time, he takes the plate from the tray. The girl on the tabletop tries to see what the dish is, but this is a futile attempt as he holds it over her torso. As he tilts the plate slightly, fluid drips from the edge...he lowers the plate closer to her torso, but with the bottom facing her, she can only feel this very warm liquid spill onto her. He seemingly pokes at something on the glassware with the knife, dragging it off to fall to her stomach with a plop. She strains her eyes to make out this hot and heavy slab on her person; with horror she realizes, it is his dinner...his ***y steak dinner.
Leisa Posted June 1, 2020 Very nice. The visualization had me almost as panicked and desperate for escape as she was. This scene is surreal. Very nicely done Cade.
Bo**** Posted June 1, 2020 Cade! A veritable feast of discomfort....primal,sqirming,carniverous mirrors held shaking in hand! Sublime in it's challenges to the mind. Thank you....anticipation of more writings,please sir? Oliver wants more,lol. Big love,Dude🙏
Deleted Member Posted June 2, 2020 If I could do a standing ovation Cade I would be doing so right now my man. That was an unbelievable read. Beautiful and descriptive, the mind could visualise each part of that scenario. Thanks for sharing yet another masterpiece xxxx 👏👏👏
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