Back in July 2014, prompt #112 of Wicked Wednesday was: Write from the point of view of the last tree standing in a forest. That’s where my story, Lonely observations, came from.
There seems to be a bit of symbolism in this story. Almost five years ago, our D/s sort of came to a standstill, or if you want, it became a very low-level D/s. There’s no complaint in that – it is what it is. Life happens. But, I will lie if I say that sometimes, remembering all the wonderful things we have experienced (such good memories!), and reading the ongoing kink experiences of others, makes me feel… lonely. Let’s say, I feel like the tree in this story – only an onlooker. I’m not complaining though. Sometimes some things in life are just more important than others, and god knows, we’re dealing with important stuff now.
As said, sometimes it makes me feel lonely to be an onlooker, but it also makes me smile to see the love and pleasure (and pain) people experience in their lives. So, it feels like a good time to edit this story; to polish it up some with all I have learned about writing in the years since I first wrote it. Enjoy!
I saw them coming long before they reached me. They zigzagged between the debris of branches and wood splinters, left behind when my fallen mates had been taken away. The footpath wasn’t clear anymore, scattered with dying leaves and twigs, some of them already dead. Why? Why had those loggers leave me standing here? Why did they not take me down like all the other trees in this forest? I heard them say I was too beautiful to cut down, but I don’t want to be here. Not on my own.
A soft breeze rustled through my leaves and brought my attention back to the movement in front of me. My attention didn’t stray from the couple again. Dressed in black leather pants, a black T-shirt with cut-off sleeves and black boots to complete the picture, he walked behind her, while she led the way. In his hand he loosely held a leash, clipped onto the collar around her neck. A smile decorated his face, while she look worried. Except for hiking boots and socks, the woman was naked. She glanced back at the man and only when he lashed out at her, I saw the whip he held in his other hand.
“Haven’t I told you…” he asked, as the tip of the whip touched her bottom again, and she cried out, “… that you’re not allowed to look at me? Now walk!”
She obeyed in silence and stopped when she reached the foot of me.
“Good girl,” he said, and stopped behind her. Her orders seemed to have been to find me, and momentarily pride rushed through my leaves, for being singled out. A pang of sadness erased the pride, as I looked around me, once more seeing the remnants of my fallen mates. I forced my attention back to them.
His body pressed against hers, while the arm holding the leash snaked around her from behind, and pushed her breasts up. She leaned into him. He pressed her forward until her warmth radiated against my rough bark, then walked around me, and took a rolled up length of rope from the back pocket of his trousers. Her arms hugged me, but her hands didn’t touch on the other side. Still, he tied rope around her wrists, pulling it tight and securing her tightly against me.
He moved behind her again and kicked against her boots for her to spread her legs. Her moans sounded like she enjoyed whatever he did when his hand slipped between her legs from the back. His words confirmed my suspicions.
“You’re wet, little slut,” he said and push a finger into her mouth. More moans followed, while she eagerly sucked on his finger.
“Let’s see if we can get you a bit wetter,” he said with a chuckle and took a couple of steps away from her. The whip whistled through the air, and the tip landed on her bottom. She sighed. Another lash. She gasped. Lash. Moan. Lash. A scream. Lash. Another scream. Lash. Grunting, gritting her teeth. One more lash. Silence. Lash. A soft moan. Lash. Silence. Surrender.
Wetness seeped into my bark right where her face rested against it. Was she crying? Crying like my mates did when they were cut down? Crying like I did when I watched them fall?
He stopped the whipping, and walked to the woman. Softly he touched her buttocks, standing next to her, and watching her face. She moaned, her eyes closed. He kissed her, and she moaned some more.
“On your knees,” he ordered after he had untied her. She turned around, walked a couple of steps, and facing away from me, she dropped to her knees. Red welts covered her bottom, some a deep red, others almost pink.
He pushed her shoulders to the ground and spread her legs. I had a perfect view on both her holes, and watched him slipping two fingers inside her. He pulled out, wetness glistening on his fingers.
“You liked it, didn’t you?” he asked. She kept quiet.
A bright red hand print joined the red marks on her bottom.
“Yes Sir,” she hastened to say, “yes! Yes, I liked it. Thank you, Sir!”
Two fingers slipped back inside her, moving in and out. A constant stream of sound came fell her mouth, building up to a crescendo and dying on her lips when her body convulsed in orgasm and he pulled his fingers out.
He lay down next to her. They kissed. Tender kisses. Passionate kisses. Her bottom was still up in the air, her sex spread and shiny with her juices. He unzipped his pants, pushed them down to his ankles and pulled her to straddle him.
My perfect view was of his erect member slipping into the same hole his fingers had filled only moments ago, and for a while I forgot about the sadness surrounding me.
© Rebel’s Notes
Image from Pixabay