The Room Covered In Glass · Part 1 (1/2)
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Part 1
They all thought he was crazy.
He enjoyed the sense of notoriety. There was an air of entitlement in being infamous, and he basked in their repulsion. When one of the males came back with a clipping calling for any information on his whereabouts, dictated by Amanda herself, well, that's when he knew they would no longer live with their mere dislike. Any of them would gladly capture him and bring him to her, in hopes that her obsession, as pure and undulated as it were, would rub off on them and they too would find themselves, not just jungle folk, but captives of the most beautiful and relentless woman in all of the lands.
It wasn't hard to avoid capture. Many of the other males would make it easy for any of the women stalking the woods to find them and take them into the fortress that overlooked the jungle's brush. They would make noise, arouse suspicion, and act dimwitted because they all craved that nonstop captivity. Many of the men had decided on a schedule of who would be captured when, and by predicting how long the women would keep their prey on the fortress, they could create a fair and balanced system where the women wouldn't become suspicious when several men ran up to them like little puppy dogs, begging for treats.
No, he knew that the best way to get the very best capture was to emphasize quality, not quantity. He looked forward to the day when he was caught, but he knew that the anticipation of finding the lone male that the women had yet to find for ten years would drive them mad. His theory was proved correct when, by the first year of his avoiding the hunters, he managed to bring into the forest about ten or twenty hunters who refused any men who crossed their paths that did not bear his face.
"It's good enough, yeah?" asked Boslick, the closest thing he had to a friend in the male camp. "You got them by the balls! You get taken now and it will make all the difference."
"No," he replied. And that's all he replied. He didn't want to spread his plans and create copycats. All he knew was that, in the anticipation and suspense, in the end his final capture would be all the more thrilling on both ends; far more than Boslick ever dreamed of.
And so he hid. Once Amanda's wishes had been made public, he left camp, and set off to the coast, near a small cave. It was a place he had been to many times. He knew the feel of the moss in the nighttime when he couldn't see. He knew the trees around him, so comforting and familiar. He stepped inside of the cave and saw a fire already burning. He looked down and there she was, his muse. She was beautiful. She looked at him with eager eyes. He looked back into those eyes and felt like he was looking into a mirror, one that would fold neatly into itself and suck you into its depths.
She never revealed where she came from. All he knew was that she loved to be roped up in the nearby vines, and so he aided her. He crossed the cave, picked up the vines by the side of the cave, and smelled them. They smelled fresh, but showed signs of wear. He looked back at her.
"My dear Ezelie," he said, his voice tinged with specks of false disappointment, "you've been playing alone, haven't you?"
"No, my lord Ryan, I have not," she said, her eyes falling to the floor. They still held that eager look. He clicked his tongue in mock anger.
"Well," he said, moving in with the vines, "we'll just have to see about that."
And he crossed behind her, picking up her fragile hands and pulling them behind her back sharply, but not enough to hurt. He motioned for her to rise, a simple command of UP! She rose quickly, her nearly naked skin glistening with the sweat. He shoved her forward, and out of the cave into the slowly darkening sky. He pulled her toward a tree. They had used this tree before; it was not rough, but smooth, almost like a plastic. He pulled her around the tree so that her body was pressed firmly against it, back to the tree, with the arms wrapped around behind it. He slowly went about his work.
He knew that Ezelie liked the tying just as much as being already bound, so he made his motions smooth and breathless as he brought the ropes tight around her. There were many coils tonight, he noted. Ezelie must have been cutting them down all day. So he went the eighth mile for her, roping her hands behind the tree first, and then the feet bound to the very bottom of the tree. Then he slung one of the wider vines, which could have been a leaf frond for its width, and tied it firmly around her mouth so she would not make a sound.
He loved tying up this girl, almost as much as he loved being tied. Sometimes she would tie him up when he asked very nicely and she was in a good mood. But this was a very strict relationship, and he was the master. He found that switching roles was refreshingly enjoyable, and it was certainly fun to have a secret female in the jungle, even if he didn't know where she came from. If she were found, he would be severely punished. He looked forward to the day, even if he cared deeply for her.
He pulled her sleek and powerful thighs together and tied those, then lopped some rope behind it and pulled it flush with the tree. Past that was the small piece of blue clothing that both genders wore, which he decided to secure by roping a small harness of vine underneath her crotch and around her hips, pressing it against her sensual parts. If she tried to move her pelvic area forward, the rope would snag and she would feel a sharp pressure on the area. He knew she liked that. Then he moved up and brushed his finger lightly on her full breasts, not looking into her eyes. The sweat dropped down her body, tracing the curves of her breasts and waist.
She purred into the bond around her mouth, and he grabbed a long extension of vine, drawing it around and around and around her waist just below her breasts, back and over her arms on the back side of the tree. Then he drew some more vines above the breasts as well, so that they were fully accented and squeezed forward. He looked up, and her eyes were closed, her head backwards as she expressed her delight silently. His hands felt the breasts and gave then a slight pressure. He drew his hands up from her breasts and into her hair, allowing his fingers to feel the strands of her mane as he drew closer to her, pressing his body deep into her bound frame.
"Good night, my dear captive," he said, and then he retreated, allowing Ezelie to enjoy the rest of her night in solstice.
Amanda sat in her favorite chair. It was a large one, very old, wooden, still from back in the day when trees were not synthetic, but rather carved and molded into beautiful shapes. She felt as if the chair were holding her upward, cupping her body into the ceiling and onwards into the night sky.
In her right hand was a cold beverage; a bottle of Mr. Cobweb's Fantastic Brewery. The left hand reached out to a foot away from the chair, to the space above a silver square embedded into the floor of the cold, glass floor. She grasped the air mindlessly, her consciousness floating in and out of Mr. Cobweb's drink and the frantic, sensuous hunt that she was to embark on the next morning.
"My lady," said a voice from behind her. She did not move a muscle, and her body was a statue to any onlookers.
"My lady," the voice said again. The voice was aching as if it were to become ashes as the words floated back toward her. "We have an informant."
With that she rose, her mind concentrated suddenly and irrevocably. The nightgown she wore fell back down upon her legs as she rose as silently as she had been before, placing the beverage down upon the arm rest of the wooden chair.
"Thank you," said Amanda.
Boslick went to Amanda on his own accords. He knew that turning in Ryan was for his own good, and that telling Amanda, the head of all of the lady hunters, what he knew of Ryan's movements would aid everyone on the island, including himself.
So when he came forward to the fortress, he proclaimed, "I have information about Ryan!" He knew that they could hear him, and within minutes he was already firmly tied and on the ground, his mouth gagged and unusable. He pulled against the bonds as the women moved forward, and he knew that these were no ordinary hunters. Amanda had sent only the best for Ryan's capture. They were young, but well trained, and their youth was well accented by the hunter's usual outfits: a small, tightly woven shirt that cut severely down from the neck with a color that noted rank, with an equally tight bottom pant with a thick belt cinched around their waist with any manner of technology designed to stop a man hanging off of it, bound in his tracks.
One of the girls looked down as Boslick and grinned. "I think I may take you for myself once Amanda's done with you and your… information," she said, reaching her left hand over to her right wrist to touch a small silver square that was fastened to her hand.
From that small square came a small cube of the same size and color, lifting weightlessly from the girl's hand. It grew slowly, with lines in minute patterns slowly appearing on its surface. It descended to below Boslick as he lay on the jungle floor, growing larger and longer below him. The patterns grew larger as well, and they cascaded across the silver rectangle. Slowly it lifted him up, and then it began to rise around and encase him.
"Nighty night," said the girl, looking at him with a glint in her eye as the silver slowly covered him in a large, floating hollow rectangle. The side wall began to close, and soon all there was was black. Boslick could see nothing. He struggled against the bonds futility, then pressed his feet against the rectangle he knew surrounded him. It was as firm as plastic. He knew they were transporting him, but to where? Amanda?
Minutes passed, which felt like hours, which could have been days.
And then slowly, light crept back into the black, and Boslick found himself alive again. He blinked his eyes many times to allow the light to come in, and the picture was fuzzy. As the silver rectangle set him down upon the room's floor, he could see the room clearer. It was pure gray, the color of slate and stone. The girl stood there still looking at him with ferocious longing, her hand extended as the rectangle folded and shrunk and flew back into the small silver square.
"Be good, my Portia, it will be alright," said a voice to his right. The voice was cracking, aging and old, barely whispered into the cold room. The girl turned and Boslick strained his bonds to see the one who spoke.
The voice came from a very old man, dressed in a black and white formal suit. His wrinkles fell about his face in a haphazard way, and when he spoke his lips barely moved. His hands were tucked neatly at his front as he looked at the girl, named Portia, and down at Boslick.
"Put in a good word for me with Amanda, will you, Norton?" said Portia, who looked back down at Boslick. Norton nodded and she must have saw, for she left the room almost immediately.
"Now, as for you," said Norton, walking over to Boslick quickly with an energy that betrayed his age, "we must get you in a more suitable mode for Amanda. As nice as this rope job was, it's certainly not presentable."
The man went about his work in a very workmanlike fashion, cutting ropes and reapplying them in such a way that Boslick had next to no time to even flex his unbound muscles. Norton made them tighter, Boslick noticed. Tighter and more metered, more effective. He also used a different type of rope, one that was much thicker and colored white instead of the usual black. Norton pulled Boslick in a sitting position in the end, as he had done quickly before, but now he forced Boslick to stay there and upright. Then he moved over to the wall, pressed a button and suddenly they were in another room.
Boslick's eyes boggled. He had never seen teleportation. This technology was far advanced beyond many of the other girls he had been captured by in the past. Were they not allowed to use it, or was this something entirely different altogether?
"My lady," said Norton. Boslick looked, and he saw a lady sitting in a chair, looking away from both of them. The room was large and virtually decor-less, bar the chair, several silver squares on the floor and the walls, and the three people inside.
"My lady," Norton repeated. "We have an informant."
The lady moved out of the chair with a sudden and quick movement that would have taken Boslick's breath away had he been able to breathe under Norton's efficient rope-work. Her dark brown hair barely moved from her shoulders, and the deep black silk nightgown she wore rustled only a fraction as it draped down her legs.
"Thank you," said Amanda, her voice lowering the temperature of the room by ten degrees. It was cold, sharp and brutal. A deep stab of fear lodged deep into Boslick's heart, and he wondered if he really wanted to sell Ryan out to this powerful woman. He pulled his wrists from his back, and shifted his ankles only a hair. Norton disappeared behind him into the shadows of the room, and as he looked into Amanda's eyes, he knew that it was far too late.
The boy wasn't young, Amanda noted, but he also didn't appear very wise or knowledgeable. She knew that many of the males met on a regular basis and often lived together, so any one of the men could and should know something about Ryan. Besides, their self interests was something that they could not ignore. Norton cast his hand at a screen that was sitting, cast on the floor, in front of her chair. She read it quickly in the corner of her eye. Portia and this boy, Boslick… they would make a good pair for the night, certainly. If, of course, this boy cooperates, which he undoubtedly will. Norton left the room with a bow.
The boy struggled limply into his bonds, his sinuous muscles pressing firmly into the bite of the white ropes. But as she looked and inspected Norton's handiwork, she noticed the glint of fear in the boy's eyes. She smiled softly, subtly, only to herself. This was going to be fun.
Norton had roped the boy in sensuous ropes, which created thick bonds metered roughly six inches apart from each other down the body. His mouth was gagged and his wrists were firmly behind his back. His eyes never left hers. She let him see her smile that she kept inside of her, and she brushed forward, letting her every step move her otherwise uncovered legs leave her nightgown. He noticed. This would be cake. She paced forward faster now, and in one quick motion she pulled the gag out of his mouth. His mouth closed automatically, swallowing hard and metering the saliva once again.
"Now tell me," she said, letting her words fall from the air like doves settling upon a railing. "What do you know about the male named Ryan?"
The boy breathed through his nose and looked down at the floor. "My lady," he said. She smirked; this boy was not stupid. "He comes and goes as he pleases. We do not know where he sleeps. He leaves every day when the sun has skimmed off the tips of the trees."
"Which direction does he leave?" she asked him.
He did not answer.
She leaved forward and down onto this boy, sitting on the floor with his hands bound firmly behind his back. She reached behind him, grabbed the rope that was tucked behind his rear, and pulled slowly. The rope was bound such that this placed heavy pressure on his pelvic area. The boy cried out in pain and pleasure suddenly, his back arching as much as his arms would allow.
"He goes toward the shore and the cliffs, away from the fortress and from the males! I don't think he ever slept by us!"
She smiled again, and rose.
"Thank you, Boslick. You have done both of us a great service. As my reward to you, Portia will claim you as her own."
The boy was still distracted by the moment of pressure on his privates, and so he could barely say, "thank you mistress!"
His shoulders slumped forward into the bonds and as he realized her words, his eyes danced with the promise of the oncoming pleasure. She replaced the gag and turned around, walking back to the wooden chair. Behind him, she could hear Portia as she entered the room, removed her prize, and departed. Amanda smiled to herself, then immediately removed it. Smiling was becoming a common occurrence, and in this chase, there would be no time for such frivolities.
Part 2
Ryan awoke with a start.
Someone was in the area. Someone close.
He jumped up, knowing that it was most certainly the hunters. The males never came out this far, and they could never track him anyway. Ezelie was…
Ezelie.
He had been sleeping in the brush about a fourth of a mile away from where Ezelie had been tied to the tree. She liked to be left alone after she had been tied, and so he always moved somewhere else. There was never any danger for her before.
He reached the tree that she was tied to after only a minutes of light jogging. His mind was racing, yet it was still foggy from just waking up a moment ago. She was gone. There was no sign of the vines that tied her, nor any footprints to reveal where the hunters had gone if they had removed her from the tree.
A sound.
Ryan reached up and grabbed a low hanging branch in the jungle brush, and using his arms and brute strength he pulled himself up to get into the tree.
He was getting his footing onto the branch when three hunters came into the area, one of them holding Ezelie, who was roughly bound, gagged, and tied in almost every way possible. Her eyes looked about the jungle with a helpless look in her eye. She was being carried along by a silver rectangle of some sort, hovering in midair and covering in ornate symbols and patterns that Ryan's still sleepy eyes could not read from the tree.
The three hunters were beautiful, young and powerful despite their slim size. They appeared the same age as Ezelie, but their movements suggested that they were even younger. They all wore the same tight woven shirt and black pants, with the thick belt that hung, among other things, rope, chain, and plastic straps. Two of them wore blue, while one of them wore green. One of the blue shirted girls was the one who was guiding Ezelie's platform.
"I found her tied up to this three, right here," said Ezelie's captor to the other two, pointing to the tree. "She was tied with vines and tree leaves. Very expert job, despite the tools and circumstances involved."
"You think it's him?" asked the green shirt.
"Absolutely," said Ezelie's captor. "I've seen most of the boys on this island and none of them could ever do this, nor want to. I think of the boys here, only three are switches, and one of them was taken to Portia last night."
"Yes," said the other blue shirt. "He had information for Amanda. The name was Boslick. Portia said that he knew Ryan by a bit more than the rest of the males, but not by much."
Ryan's breath held in his lungs for a half a minute. So they were after him. Ezelie's captivity was his fault. He may never see her again. And Boslick? What what he doing with girls this high up the food chain?
"Is Amanda in the area?" asked the green shirt.
"Yes," said Ezelie's captor, turning around. "Not sure where. She's dead certain on finding this boy, though."
"I'll take this girl back to the fortress," said the green shirt. "Amanda wouldn't want you two going back, but I don't think that I would be of much use at this point. You are all far better than me."
The blue shirted girls nodded, and the green shirt grabbed the floating silver platform with Ezelie on top of it, writhing and trying to escape from her heavy bonds. She disappeared from view, and the two blue shirts separated in opposite directions.
Ryan breathed slowly.
"That was quite an interesting conversation," said a voice behind him.
He turned and caught a glimpse of a golden shirt before his reflexes kicked in and he leaped from the tree, darting to another close by, and then another, and then another.
Who was that? He looked back and saw nothing. How did she sneak up on him like that? Why didn't she capture him then?
He dropped from the tree to the jungle floor and looked around slowly. This was a familiar area, but he had no idea where the hunters were or what tools they were using.
And then he saw her.
She noticed him and looked straight into his eyes. She was wearing the same clothing as the rest of the girls, but it seemed different somehow. Was it the golden shirt that did it? The shoulder length, dark brown hair that framed her face? The slow, seductive way that she walked? Her ephemeral beauty?
"You must understand this," she said, moving forward still, passing in and out of the light that shone through the tree branches. "The anticipation. The thrill of being so close, so near to what you want and what you may have, before it may just be snatched away from you."
No, he decided. It was her eyes, and her voice. Both were like ice. They melted on your skin, but the cold still lingered. She had the power, at any time, to capture him. He knew this, and she knew this. He watched her move forward, and his hand touched the tree nearby.
And she reached him, and drew the rope from her belt slowly around his back, and it pressed sharply against his skin. She pulled him close to her, and his eyes never left hers. Her soft body pressed against his firm legs. And then he pulled away, out of the rope and back into the jungle shrub. They never lost eye contact as he did.
She moved forward, he took a step back. Forward, back, forward, back.
And then, suddenly, firm hands grasped his arms from both sides behind him. The two blue shirted girls. Of course.
She moved forward, again, just as slow, as the hands gripped him hard. He could not move. She wrapped the rope in her hand around her wrist, once, twice, moving slowly forward through the jungle brush as if she were floating.
"I respect you far more than you think, Ryan," she said, her eyes boring deep into his skull. "Your skill is magnificent. And you have made me yearn for you, far more than you could ever imagine."
She went behind him then and with the help of the two blue shirted girls pulled his arms together, and tied the wrists firmly behind the back. And that was it, he said to himself. It's over.
They forced him down into the jungle floor silently and quickly, and he fell down, his still tired body exhausted. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
Ryan awoke again, and he could not move an inch.
He blinked quickly to get a sense of his surroundings and position. What had happened? His mind reeled for answers.
Capture. Ezelie. The gold shirted girl. The hunters.
He tried to leap up, but he was tied very firmly. He could not move a single muscle.
He was bound to a chair with no arm rests. His wrists were tied behind the chair, and the bonds around his wrists were connected so that his arms were being pulled down the back. His lower ankles were tied to the front legs of the chair. Across the borderline between his pelvis and his legs, two straps pressed him perfectly back against the back of the seat.
To make things even more complicated, there was heavy rope secured to his knees, and those were tied to the chair so that the rope pulled his legs out as far as they could go on both ends, so that his bent legs made a V shape. His pelvis was perfectly exposed in the crux of the V.
And then his mind reeled with another shock – he was fully clothed. He was dressed in what appeared to be the hunters' clothing, but designed for men instead. The pants and belt were firmly around his waist and legs (not quite as tight as the girls' pants were, and far longer, but still firm) but instead of the woven shirt, the upper part of the body was covered by a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The shirt was neatly tucked into his pants, and whoever had dressed him had decided to unbutton all but the very lowest button of the shirt. This shirt, too, would have been extremely tight, if it hadn't been unbuttoned.
He breathed deeply, struggling against the bonds. It had been years since he had been bound so professionally, and even more since he had last wore clothing. The clothes made him feel more revealing, not less, which is what he expected. And the bonds were so strong and well places, he struggled with pleasure. He was not going anywhere, and he was perfectly exposed to be taken advantage of.
Footsteps.
The room was large and unadorned. The floor was made of glass and reflected everything, with a large silver square in the very center of the room. Apart from several light sources around the room, there was nothing to speak of, apart from his bound body in the middle.
The footsteps came quicker, until they reached the spot directly behind him.
"Do you like my design?" came the voice. He expected it, but it still drew into his heart and squeezed roughly.
She walked forward, still wearing the same hunter uniform as before. The belt held nothing but more rope, he noted. He wondered how long he had been out, though he knew better than to ask. She had not gagged him, but he knew how this would work.
"I enjoy simplicity," she said, still looking into his eyes. "Only the very least amount of rope and leash required to tie down my prey in such a vulnerable form. It's been a long time since I've deemed a prey worthy of my hands with bondage, so you should feel very proud of your accomplishments thus far."
He nodded slowly, and when he lowered his head he kept it lowered, never leaving her eyes.
"Please," she said, with a hint of a smile crawling onto her severely punctuated face. "Spare me the 'mistress' stuff. I know how your mind works, Ryan. It would go so much more smoothly if we could at least show the same level of respect to each other in this arrangement."
He raised his head.
"Very well, Amanda," he said to her then. "As much as we can in a room where you shall tie me up and do any manner of assorted things to me, we shall find mutual respect."
She laughed. The sound reverberated from the walls as she moved forward upon his chair.
"See, Ryan, this is is how it shall work. Every day you will find yourself in a new design. We shall continue trying new designs every day until we find one where you will wholly and fully submit to me. I know that this will be long, and I will have to think long and hard about what I can do to make such a clever man as yourself submit to my whims, but don't worry
The Room Covered In Glass · Part 1 (1/2)
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