Lost At Sea

This had to be what people meant when they talked about hyper-reality: Scarlett felt raw as if she was an exposed nerve, with even the faintest breath of air causing shivers to run down her naked spine. When a bug landed on her collarbone she thought that she could feel each of its small legs individually on her skin. When it started again the hypersensitivity of her senses made the buzzing sound seem as loud as that of a helicopter. The beating of her strong heart was so present in all of her veins now. Her own scent (mint and musk, spice and sweat, leather and feverish hot skin) was so thick in her nostrils that it made her dehumanization even more real, serving as a perpetual reminder for what was being done to her.

Her pussy was driving her crazy, so hot and moist, so ready, and impossible to reach or touch with her arms caught in the back-prayer position they had been secured in.

The cruel bondage, the corset and harness, the strangling force of the leather and restraints against her skin and muscles created a weird rhythm while she moved, a pulsating pain and discomfort that were weirdly easy to accept. Somehow, they were becoming a part of her default state of being, nothing special or unnatural or disgusting anymore but something that she needed to accept and cope with, something that began to define her.

Define me... no, definitely not, this is torture, this is hell, I want out of this, this is not easy to accept... She managed to pull herself together for a moment and concluded that the stream of her consciousness was more and more turning into a torrential river. In the past she had been able to control her stream of consciousness to a certain point - like human beings usually could. She had been able to walk back and forth an time and choose freely what thoughts she wanted to dwell on, what memories she wanted to examine further. But now, gradually she was losing the ability to reflect how time passed, lost the ability to understand how time worked.

Everything seems to be happening in the Now... but I can't allow the torrent to just overpower me. I need to fight it.... Concentrate...how long have we been marching...? I feel so tired, so exhausted... need water, something to drink... I'm so hungry and so thirsty... oh God please make me break down. I don't want this endurance... please oh God please I don't want to be so strong... Suddenly a sharp pain hit her left ass cheek and Scarlett screamed in surprise. But the noise that came from her gagged mouth really turned out as a comical mix between a yelp and a moo. Instinctively she jumped forward and picked up a faster pace again, the pain still burning on her skin.

"Come on", Chris said behind her. The thin branch in his hand produced a whistling sound as he swung it again, but this time he didn't hit her. "Faster girl, you are slowing down again."

Don't remember... since when does he have a... why can he... did I allow...??

This had to be what people were talking about when they mentioned 'hyper-reality', all nerves feeling so open and raw, and even the faintest breeze causing shivers on her hot, sensitive skin. They ran down her naked spine and covered Scarlett in goose bumps, and the bugs and insects that buzzed through the air around her sounded like helicopters. Her heart was pounding so hard and powerful in her chest and that weird strength filled her with so much energy despite her exhaustion, and her stink (musk and mint, spicy sweat and leather and skin) was so intense in her nose that she groaned in humiliation, again reminded of how degraded she was as Chris' 'cattle'.

She hated her nipples for being so sensitive, hated her stupid cunt for being so wet and warm and longing and she was filled with an even darker hate directed towards a world that didn't allow her to use her arms. Frustrated she strained them against the bonds for a moment, drool dripping down her chin. But of course she stayed harnessed and restrained as helpless as before, the belts and straps encasing her with such a cruel, painful force that was more and more becoming normal for her.

No... this is not normal, it's sick torture... can't give up, must not give up. Must never accept this as normal. I need to pull myself together... must remember that being kept like this isn't how I'm supposed to exist!

It was very hard, she realized, to think in terms of past, present and future. There only seemed to be a Now anymore, and she was losing herself in it. Everything else was blurred and she was not even sure if she was still sane, exhausted and suffering as she was. I wish I would just drop to the ground... just pass out, why can't I pass out, I don't want this, I can't go on, can't go on, oh God please don't force me to...

Suddenly a stinging pain hit her right ass cheek and she yelped surprised, half stumbled and half jumped forward and picked up a faster pace, her eyes rolling wild in their sockets, foam bubbling from the corners of her mouth.

"Come on girl, you need to keep a faster pace, or we'll never get to the top before it gets dark. And we don't want to spend yet another night in the jungle, do we?"

She was so confused. He just hit me... he has a cane.... Why didn't he tell me he was going to use...

This had to be the state of mind that people were talking about when they mentioned hyper-reality! All colors were so bright, all noises were so intense, and she felt like an exposed nerve, so sensitive and naked...

...shivers running down her spine... her strong heart beating...

...her own scent of musk and mint and leather and spice...

...the pain and exhaustion and her stupid, brainless pussy, so hot and slick...

...but this wasn't her, it was not what defined her...

...this was not... what defined her...

...ouch! since when did he have that cane???...