The Bitter Setting Sun

It's evening, oblique tree shadows stripe the ruins. Cracked walls, moss-covered brickwork, traces of fire, broken roof. A few ceiling beams, some collapsed entirely, some crooked. The floor is packed dirt strewn with debris. Remains of wooden floorboards jut out in the corners. The air smells of dust and mildew.

Mila leans against a crumbling wall, arms crossed, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed, a smirk on her lips. She looks like she's ready to fight. "So this is where you bring all your girls, Nosferatu321? I must say it lacks a certain... je ne sais quoi." Her voice drips sarcasm.

Greg stands a few feet away, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. He looks at the ground, then up at Mila, then back down again. He looks small and pale next to her confident stance. He clears his throat. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, I thought it would be more... private here." His voice is soft and hesitant. He sounds nothing like the aggressive Dom he portrays online. He has his hands in the pockets of his jeans, gripping the fabric tightly.

Mila laughs. "Private? Sweetie, if you wanted private, we could have just gone to my place. Or yours." She raises an eyebrow, knowing full well that isn't an option for him.

Greg blushes slightly. "Yeah, well... you know... safety first."

Mila pushes off from the wall and takes a step closer to Greg. "Safety? Do you even remember my safe word?" She's close enough now that he has to look up to meet her gaze. She's taller than him by a good few inches.

Greg swallows hard. "Don't worry, I remember. I'll make sure you're safe."

Mila smirks again. "Whatever you say, Master." She lets the title drip with mockery. "So, what's the plan? Are we just going to stand here and chat about the lovely architecture, or are you actually going to do something?" She spreads her arms wide, challenging him.

Greg looks around the room, as if searching for inspiration in the crumbling walls. "Um... well... I was thinking... maybe we could start with some bondage."

Mila rolls her eyes dramatically. "Oh wow, how original. Let me guess - you want to tie me up? How predictable." She turns around, presenting her back to him. "Well, go ahead then, surprise me. Make it worth my time."

Greg looks at Mila's back, then at the empty room. He hesitates, then tentatively reaches out a hand towards her wrists. He touches her lightly, as if testing the water. Mila doesn't react. He starts to pull her arms behind her back, but she resist slightly, making him work for it. He finally gets her wrists together and looks around again, this time for something to use as a binding material. He sees nothing but old wood and dirt.

"Problem, Master?" Mila asks, her voice laced with amusement. She can feel his hesitation, his lack of preparation. "Forgot your rope at home?"

Greg grits his teeth, trying to hide his frustration. "No. I just..." Didn't think it would even come to this, he thinks, but keeps it to himself.

Mila laughs. "Because you assumed I'd be so eager to serve you that I'd bring my own? How sweetly delusional of you." She takes pity on him, but only a little. "Fine. I brought some. But you have to earn the right to use it." She turns around and pulls a length of rope from her bag. It's bright red, contrasting sharply with the grimy surroundings. She holds it out to Greg, but doesn't let go immediately. "This is top-quality jute. It's expensive. You treat it right, and it won't leave marks on my skin. If you're rough with it, or with me, I will walk away. Understand?"

Greg nods eagerly, taking the rope from her. He runs it through his hands, feeling the texture. "Yeah, I understand. I'll be careful." He looks at Mila, then at the rope, then back at Mila. "Um... how should I do this?"

Mila raises an eyebrow. "Seriously? You've been chatting about BDSM for years, and you don't know how to tie a knot?"

Greg blushes. "I mean... in theory... but not on a real person..."

Mila sighs dramatically. "Fine. I'll guide you. But only because I want to see how bad this can get before you fail completely." She turns around again, presenting her back. "Start by wrapping the rope around my wrists. Not too tight at first. We're just creating a foundation here."

Greg starts to wrap the rope around Mila's wrists, following her instructions closely. He ties a basic knot, nothing fancy. Mila watches him over her shoulder, critiquing every move. He's clumsy, his fingers shake slightly, he tugs too hard in places, too loose in others.

After a few minutes of this, he finally gets a knack of it. Mila's wrists are criss-crossed with a few loops of rope now. She tugs on the ropes, testing the tie.

"Okay, it's not a complete disaster." She admits. "But it's far from good. You need practice. A lot of it."

Greg nods. "Yeah, I can see that..." He looks at Mila, then at the rest of the rope. "So... what next?"

Mila smirks. "Well, since you're so bad at this, we should probably skip the advanced stuff. We don't want to accidentally hurt me, do we?" She turns around to face him. "Let's stick to something simple. How about we work on my endurance?"

Greg looks confused. "Your... endurance?"

Mila nods. "Yes. You know, physical stamina. Endurance training is very important for a submissive like me."

Greg scratches his head. "But... I thought subs were supposed to... you know... be weak and stuff?"

Mila laughs. "Oh god, no. That's a common misconception. The best subs are strong physically. It takes a lot of strength to hold a position for hours, or to take a beating without collapsing. I want to be able to take whatever you can dish out, without passing out."

Greg thinks about this for a moment. "I see... okay, so what should we do?"

Mila grins wickedly. "Well, since we're here in this lovely forest, how about we work on my balance? You can make me do some yoga poses while you inspect me closely." She winks at him. "It'll give you a chance to appreciate my flexibility, and I'll get a good workout."

Greg swallows hard. The thought of watching Mila do yoga makes him feel oddly nervous. But he doesn't want to show his hesitation. He forces a smile. "Okay, sounds good. Let's start." He gestures to an open space on the dirt floor. "Over there, maybe?"

Mila shrugs and walks to the spot he indicated. She turns to face him, her arms still bound behind her back. "So, what pose would you like to see first, Master?" She asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The Downward Dog? The Camel? Or perhaps the Pigeon?" She arches an eyebrow, waiting for his response.

Greg, feeling emboldened by her compliance, decides to push his luck.

"First I need you to strip. Completely."

"Oh, but I can't!" Mila points out, waving her bound hands.

Greg steps up to her, grabs the collar of her t-shirt and yanks. It creaks, but stays on. Mila struggles to contain a giggle, but fails. Greg yanks again, and finally, the collar rips open.

"He-ey!" Mila protests half-heartedly, only making Greg more eager. He grabs her torn t-shirt with both hands and rips it all the way down. This sudden display of power makes him feel good, but a bit winded. He takes a deep breath, takes out a pocket knife and slices through the sleeves carefully. The t-shirt drops on the ground in tatters.

"Now look what you've done!" Mila's voice is full of mock distress. Her middle-sized, perky breasts look at Greg teasingly. He's feels unstoppable now.

"Watch me!" He slides her shorts down to her ankles, and pulls them off along with her sneakers, making her lift one foot, then the other. Greg can't help but keep his hands on Mila's bare feet a bit longer than necessary. Long, narrow feet with high, elegantly curved arches. He'll have so much fun with them later...

Greg's gaze returns to Mila's thighs.

"What the hell is that?"

Shiny metal embraces her pelvis, padded with black rubber. A wide oval plate rests over her crotch, perforated with a matrix of small holes.

"Why, a chastity belt." Mila says casually. "Don't tell me you've never seen one before?"

He runs a finger along the edge of the metal, feeling the cold steel against her warm skin. "No... I mean, not in real life..."

Mila laughs. "Well, welcome to reality, Nosferatu321. You see that lock there?" She nods toward a heavy brass padlock securing the belt around her waist. "That means no dick inside. Sorry."

Greg swallows hard. "You... you can take it off though? Right?"

"Nope."

"Nope?"

Mila smiles sweetly. "It's designed so I can wear it for extended periods. There's no easy way to remove it. Not without the key."

Greg feels a pang of frustration. He looks at the belt, then at Mila. "But... why wear it if you can't get anything out of it?"

Mila raises an eyebrow. "Who said anything about getting something out of it?"

Greg blinks. "But... isn't that the point?"

Mila shrugs, or rather tries to - her bound wrists restrict the movement. "Not for me. For me, it's about control. My control. Over my body, over my reactions, over you."

She steps closer to Greg, so close he can feel her breath on his face. "Because here's the thing, Greg. You might think you're in charge just because you're tied me up. But unless you can make me come, you're not really controlling me, are you?"

Greg opens his mouth to respond, but Mila cuts him off. "And since I have no intention of coming for you... who's really in control here, hmm?"

Greg feels a surge of anger. He grabs Mila by the shoulders and shoves her roughly against the wall. She hits it with a grunt, her head snapping back slightly.

"Hey! Watch the hair!" She snaps, but Greg doesn't let go.

"I'm in control." He growls. "I'm the Dom here."

Mila laughs. "Prove it."

Greg hesitates, then grabs Mila's jaw in one hand, squeezing hard. He leans in close, so their noses are almost touching.

"Listen to me, you little bitch. I can do whatever I want to you. You're mine now."

Mila smiles sweetly. "Fine. Then do something. Something interesting. So far, all I see is a pathetic wannabe trying to play dress-up."

Greg's hand tightens on her jaw. He looks around the room, his mind racing. He sees a length of rope on the ground, left over from the failed bondage attempt earlier. An idea starts to form in his mind.

He releases Mila's jaw and steps back, pointing at her.

"Get on your knees. Now."

Mila smirks, but complies, lowering herself to the dirty floor. She crosses her legs beneath her, waiting for his next move.

Greg picks up the rope and examines it. It's long enough, but he'll need to be creative. He starts to unwind it, thinking about what he wants to do.

Mila watches him, her expression carefully neutral. She's curious to see what this "Dom" will do next. Little does she know, Greg is about to discover just how much pain and endurance she can take. And how much he will struggle to break her. Still playing with the rope, Greg commands:

"Lay down, face up."

Mila glances at the dirty ground and crinkles her nose, but complies.

"Legs open. Wider."

She spreads her legs wide. Greg comes over and kicks them apart even wider. It's almost full split now. He nods, seemingly satisfied.

"Now, put them together and lift up."

Mila lifts her legs up. Greg oogles her bare soles once more.

"Now, pull them to your head."

"Like this?" Mila folds into a ball.

"No! Legs straight!"

She struggles to straighten her legs while keeping her knees pressed to her chest.

"It's... impossible. I need my hands to do that!"

"I'll help you."

Greg straddles her thighs, grabs her left foot, and presses it down, behind Mila's head. She grunts and tries to shift her pelvis.

"Easy! The belt crushes my sides! Oh, fuck, my crotch!"

Greg presses her right foot even further, crossing her ankles and wrapping the rope around them. She's folded into a pretzel now, the belt digs into her flesh painfully. She doesn't even feel the sharp gravel under her back and arms. Greg stands up and circles her slowly. Not quite a victory lap, but rather a wolf circling the prey.

"You look tight." He remarks.

"I am. Very tight. And uncomfortable." Mila grits through her teeth. Her forehead is already slick with sweat.

Greg smiles. "Good. I like you tight." He sits down right next to Mila's folded body. He reaches out and touches her left foot. He strokes her arch gently.

"Nice feet."

Mila snorts. "I like them too."

Greg becomes more bold. He moves his hand up her calf. "Soft skin."

Mila tries to kick him away, but her legs are locked in the contortion.

"Hey! Watch the bites!"

Greg laughs. He leans down and takes a toe into his mouth, sucking on it hard. There's dust and dirt, but Greg doesn't care.

Mila wiggles furiously. "Oh god! Stop that! It tickles!"

Greg releases her toe with a pop and stands up. He looks down at her, breathing heavier now. He's getting aroused by the power dynamic, despite the chastity belt frustrating his erection.

Greg stands over Mila, who is still folded into that uncomfortable position. Her face is red from exertion, her eyes shining with a mix of defiance and pain.

"You know, I actually expected this to be harder," Mila pants. "You're not even stretching my limits."

Greg grinds his teeth. He wants to prove her wrong. He drops to one knee beside her head, grabbing the rope around her ankles.

"I'm going to stretch them for you."

He yanks hard on the rope. Mila screams, a sharp, involuntary sound, as the pressure on her hip joints and spine intensifies. She tries to roll away, but Greg holds the rope tight, using his body weight to keep her anchored.

"Too much!" Mila gasps. "Fuck! My hips!"

Greg holds the tension for a long count of ten, then releases it slightly, allowing Mila to collapse back down with a sobbing breath.

"What was that?" Greg growls. "Was that a limit?"

Mila takes a moment to catch her breath. "No... but it was fucking close."

Greg smiles, feeling a surge of adrenaline. "Good." He looks down at her exposed ass and thighs. The chastity belt glints in the dim light of the setting sun filtering through the broken roof.

He traces a finger along the metal edge. "This thing is annoying."

Mila snorts. "You're telling me!"

Greg leans down, his lips finding the soft skin of her inner thigh. He bites down, hard enough to leave a mark but not break the skin. Mila yelps and tries to kick him away again.

"I said no bites!" She snaps.

Greg releases her thigh and sits up. "I'll bite where I want. You don't get a say in this."

He moves around behind Mila and grabs the cheeks of her ass firmly, squeezing hard. Mila flinches at the sudden contact.

"Relax," Greg mutters, though he knows she won't.

"Fuck you," Mila spits out, though there's little venom left in her voice now. She's too focused on the pain in her legs and back to fight back verbally.

Greg leans down and presses his face against her exposed flesh, inhaling deeply. "Mmm... you smell good." He says, his voice muffled against her skin.

Mila rolls her eyes, even though he can't see it. "If you say so."

Greg reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bottle of lube. He squirts a generous amount onto his fingers.

"What are you doing?" Mila asks, a note of alarm in her voice.

Greg doesn't answer. Instead, he slides two fingers roughly into her ass without warning. Mila lets out a sharp gasp, followed by a string of curses.

"You fucking asshole!"

Greg chuckles as he starts to move his fingers in and out, stretching her slowly but surely.

"Just getting you ready. It's only fair, since I can't get into the front door."

Mila grinds her teeth. "You don't need to be gentle."

Greg stops moving. "What?"

Mila turns her head to look at him over her shoulder. "I said, you don't need to be gentle. I'm not made of glass. Stretch me. Hurt me. Make it count."

Greg stares at her for a moment, then a cruel grin spreads across his face. He pushes his fingers deeper, curling them to hit that sensitive spot inside her.

Mila groans, a sound of pain mixed with something else. Greg adds a third finger, forcing the tight ring of muscle to stretch wider.

Mila lets out a strangled cry, her body tensing against the rope bonds.

"That's it," Greg encourages darkly. "Take it like a good little sub."

Greg withdraws his fingers and stands up. He unbuckles his belt and drops his pants to his knees. His cock springs out, semi-hard but quickly stiffening as he strokes himself.

He looks down at Mila, still folded into that pretzel shape, her legs locked behind her head, the metal of the chastity belt glinting obscenely between her thighs.

"Ready?" He asks, rubbing the head of his cock against her lubed entrance.

"Bring it on," Mila pants, her voice hoarse from exertion and emotion.

Greg grabs her hips and pushes forward. He slides in slowly at first, then with a sudden thrust, buries himself deep inside her ass. Mila lets out a guttural moan, her eyes squeezing shut.

Greg starts to move, his hips slapping against her ass cheeks with wet, fleshy sounds. The chastity belt clanks against the floor with every thrust.

Mila grunts with each impact, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She tries to push back against him, but her awkward position makes it difficult to get any leverage.

Greg leans over her, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. He fucks her with a frantic rhythm, driven by a mix of lust and frustration at the belt preventing him from taking what he truly wants.

"You're so tight," Greg groans. "Fuck, you feel good."

Mila doesn't respond, too focused on enduring the invasion. Sweat runs down her face and neck, mingling with the dirt on the floor. The rope around her ankles digs into her skin, leaving red marks.

Greg reaches out and grabs one of her breasts, squeezing it painfully. Mila flinches but doesn't stop him.

"That's right," he pants. "I own this body now."

Mila opens her mouth to retort, but all that comes out is a choked gasp as Greg slams into her harder than before.

Greg is close now. His breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. He grunts, a deep, primal sound, and thrusts deep one last time, holding himself there as he releases inside her, filling her ass with his hot seed.

He stays like that for a long moment, savoring the sensation, before pulling out slowly. He steps back, panting heavily, his cock slick and glistening in the fading light.

"Fuck," he mutters, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "That was... intense."

Mila doesn't respond immediately. She's still folded into that uncomfortable position, her body trembling slightly with the aftermath of the experience.

Greg looks down at her, a smirk playing on his lips. "You know, I thought you were going to beg me to stop. But you took it like a champ."

Mila doesn't reply. She didn't do it for Greg, certainly not to please him. She doesn't care for this walking, wanking snotface. She did it for herself. She doesn't need his approval, nor praise.

Greg tucks himself up slowly. He pulls his jeans back up, zipping them over his softening cock. He fishes a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one up. He takes a deep drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke that lingers in the dusty air.

"You know," he says, looking down at Mila, who is still contorted on the ground. "I think we make a good team."

Mila snorts derisively. "Team? You mean 'a cock' and 'a cocksleeve'."

Greg laughs, shaking his head. "You're so sarcastic. It's cute." He takes another drag, then crushes the butt under his heel. Greg walks around Mila, kicking at her bound legs gently. "You know what would look good on you? A mark."

Mila stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open. "What kind of mark?"

Greg grins wickedly. "My mark."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pocket knife. He flicks it open, the blade glinting in the dim light.

Mila watches him warily. "What are you doing with that?"

Greg sits down next to her, crossing his legs. He holds up the knife. "I'm going to brand my initial into your skin. Right here." He taps the flat of the blade against her hip, just above the line of the chastity belt.

Mila tenses. "Are you serious? You want to cut me?"

Greg nods, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "It's a symbol of ownership. And a memento for me."

Mila raises an eyebrow. "And for me? It's a scar."

Greg shrugs. "So? You like pain, right?"

"That's it. Redrum."

"What?"

"Redrum. It's my fucking safeword, remember?"

"I'm sorry. Must have slipped my mind." Greg digs around in his pocket for the lighter. His moves are slow and deliberate. Mila's watching him with a sinking feeling. He holds up the blade and lets the tongue of flame dance around it.

"I should have known. You smelled like trouble right from the start." Mila says, with a tinge of belayed regret.

"You wanted trouble."

The blade tip glows red now. Greg leans over Mila and holds her by the belt strap. She tries to shrink back in futile attempt to avoid the heated metal Greg hold over her butt cheek.

"Stop fidgeting, I want this to look like a G." He presses the tip into her skin without warning. The metal sizzles against flesh. Mila screams, a raw, agonized sound that echoes off the crumbling walls of the ruin. It's animalistic, more like a howl than a human voice. The smell of burning skin and hair fills the air, acrid and sharp. Greg holds the knife steady for a long count of three before pulling it away.

"The first line's done, four more to go." He announces.

A howl pierces the air, echoing Mila's scream. It cuts through Greg's concentration. He freezes, the knife still hovering near Mila's trembling body.

"What the hell was that?" Greg mutters, looking around nervously.

Greg turns to look at the entrance of the ruin. Standing there, silhouetted against the dying sunlight, are three massive shapes. Wolves. Their eyes reflect the light, glinting with hunger and intelligence.

Greg swallows hard, his grip on the knife tightening. "Shit."

Mila struggles against her bonds, the urgency of the situation overtaking her pain. "Greg, you need to untie me. Now."

Greg looks from the wolves to Mila, then back to the wolves. He seems paralyzed by fear.

The largest wolf steps forward, its teeth bared in a silent snarl. It takes a step inside the building.

"Greg!" Mila hisses urgently. "The rope! Cut it!"

Greg drops the lighter, clutches the knife, and takes off running. He jumps out through a ruined window frame, the wolves rush past Mila, following the running prey. She closes her eyes, and keeps them closed until the dust settles around her.

Mila opens her eyes slowly, wincing at the sharp pain in her hip. The smell of charred skin lingers heavily in the air, mixing with the dust and decay of the old building. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart.

"Greg? You bastard..." she mutters under her breath. Her body is stiff from the contorted position, her muscles trembling with fatigue and residual adrenaline from the wolf encounter.

She needs to get free. Without Greg to cut the rope, she'll have to figure it out herself. She looks around the dimly lit room, searching for anything that might help. There, near the wall where Greg had dropped it - his lighter.

It's about three feet away from her head. Mila starts to move, inch by inch, dragging her folded legs across the dirt floor. It's a slow, agonizing process. Every movement pulls at the rope binding her ankles, which in turn digs into her wrists behind her back. The chastity belt rattles with every shift, grinding against her hips and pelvis.

"I hate this thing," she grinds out, referring to both the belt and her current situation.

After what feels like an eternity, she manages to maneuver her hands close enough to the lighter. The rope is tight, cutting into her skin. She can't see the knot at all, but she knows it's there. She flicks the lighter open with a thumb. A spark ignites, then a steady flame. It casts a flickering orange glow at her back.

Mila holds the flame to the jute fibers. At first, nothing happens. Then, slowly, the rope starts to smolder. Smoke rises, curling towards the ceiling beams. Mila holds her breath, concentrating on keeping the flame steady without burning herself too badly. The smell of burning rope joins the mixture in the air.

"Ouch!" Mila yelps as the flame bites her wrist.

The fibers finally ignite with a small whoosh. The flame travels up the strand, eating through the rope. Mila feels the tension on her wrists suddenly give way. The remaining pieces of rope fall away, leaving her hands free.

She brings her arms forward, rubbing her raw wrists vigorously. She flexes her fingers, grateful for the return of sensation, even if it's tinged with pain. She reaches up, her shoulders creak with strain and stiffness, and starts to unwind the rope from her legs. She pulls one foot free, then the other, straightening them out with a groan of relief. Her hips pop, her lower back stretches, and she feels the rush of blood returning to her limbs.

She can't even sit up at first. It's quiet now. The wolves are gone, presumably chasing Greg. She doesn't envy him that fate, but she knows she needs to get out of here before something else finds her.

It takes forever to get her legs moving again. She stands up shakily, supporting herself against the wall. She looks down at her hip, where Greg branded her. It's an angry red mark, oozing slightly. It hurts like a bitch.

"I'm going to find you, Greg," she growls. "You'd wish the wolves got you." She limps towards the exit, ready to make her way back to the car. She pauses at the entrance, looking out into the dark forest. Did she just hear a distant scream?

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