Cold by Lydia Swartz

I knew I would hate you the minute I saw you. It was not just your perfect blond buzz, your perfect black-on-black clothes, or the pale skin stretched over your perfect, jutting bones. You were calculating. You calculated what you could get from me. You assessed your effect on me.

You were right. I think I hated that the most.

I told myself I was following where you led out of boredom, out of scorn. It was charming that you did not even ask whether I wished to be led by the likes of you.

So I followed. I decided to see what passed for fun in your underfed imagination.

Your idea of fun, as it turns out, is discomfort.

I do not like discomfort. Pain yes, but not discomfort. Perhaps this was why I went along with it. Pleasure, the same old painful pleasures, had become a bore. An expectation of pleasure was not why I decided to come meet you.

After I followed you out of the bookstore where we had our rendezvous, I let you awkwardly tie me. I had to hold my hands still after that because the granny knot would come loose if I moved too much. Then I let you shove me into the back of your SUV.

Of course you drive an SUV. Of course it has a rainbow sticker on it.
     I rolled around in the back as much as I could without letting the knot come loose. You chuckled at the success of your plan as I pretended to be at the mercy of the car's motion.

But when we hit the highway, I slumped and fell asleep. I figured I would need my stamina when you went after my kidneys with your shiny new whip in your shiny new home, builder model 453A, color scheme 9B.

When I woke up, the car was motionless, hot and ticking. The back door was raised and the domelight was drilling into my eyes.

"Sit up," you ordered. I was on my way to do that anyway, so I gave you the satisfaction.

My domelight-crazed eyes at first reported that we were in the void. Total blackness, no light, no topography. You pulled my ankles toward you, toward the void.

I wanted coffee. I wanted to be watching a video at home in my own bed. I wanted to hit rewind and just skip ever meeting you. I was cold.

The pocket of my jeans caught on something on the way out. You kept pulling. The old denim ripped. As I stood up, the cold of the void bit the exposed flesh on my right buttock. The wet, cold foliage I stood on penetrated the leather of my boots. I shivered, but slightly and secretly: I did not want to gratify you.

You snapped a chain around my neck, and a leather dog leash onto the chain. You yanked on it and smiled, pleased with yourself. This was beginning to get tiresome. Then you fastened a bit gag in my mouth and secured it at the back of my head. I hate gags. I do not know why I let you do that.

You closed the back of the SUV and then there was no light at all. Without a word, you turned and paced off into the void, pulling the leash. You seemed to know exactly where you were going. You did not look behind you to see if I was following, if I was steady on my feet.

I still could not see a goddamn thing. I stumbled over the rough ground and vegetation. I could not let go and follow you in trust. I had no confidence in you.

cold.jpg I was angry. I tried to yell at you to stop, to let me go. I could produce only grunts and saliva through the bit.

The saliva was hot on my chin and neck, which were by now aching cold. The saliva soaked into my collar and turned icy, chilling my neck and shoulders further.

My ass was tingling from the cold moist air biting the bare flesh.

My feet were getting numb from stumbling through the cold, wet vegetation, tripping over branches and bumps. The numbness was not helping me to be more sure-footed.

I hoped that we were heading toward some structure, perhaps even a fire. There, I imagined, you could get your stupid plan over with and I could get warm. Soon, we could say pleasant but brief things, walk back to the warm car with a flashlight this time, and we could drive back to the city, the warm city, quickly. I could say goodbye, go home and crawl under my warm blanket, and I would never have to see you or this place again.

At this time tomorrow, I told myself, this will be over. All I have to do is make it to tomorrow. I clamped my teeth down on the bit and started setting my feet down hard and firm. I still tripped and drooled, but I had my eyes on the prize: tomorrow. When this would be over.

I was so determined, in fact, that I didn't notice the leash had gone slack. You had stopped. I ran into you. I am four inches taller than you and outweigh you by at least 30 pounds, but I fell anyway. You were in my way, and I didn't expect that.

I wallowed, the cold wet soaking into my jeans, the underbrush scratching my exposed ass cheek. A big branch poked into my rib cage, hurting me.

The ground was uneven, and I could not get my bearings.

When I finally almost got my feet under me, I realized you had your foot on my belly. You pushed me back down. You took advantage of me being off balance and you pushed me flat onto my back. On the cold wet ground.

I was shivering violently now and I could not disguise it.

Not that you could see it. Not that it would occur to you to check. No more than it had occurred to me to find out if you had the slightest fucking idea what you were doing before you dragged me out here to the middle of fucking nowhere.

And now what? You were unbuttoning the fly of my pants. No, goddamn it, that is enough. But you could not understand me, could you? Because you put the goddamn bit in my mouth, didn't you? I wondered if the Penthouse Variations letter that you had read, thereby convincing yourself that you were a dominatrix, had also acquainted you with the concept of a safeword. Guess not.

You had fastened the leash to a branch in such a way that I had to keep my head lifted at a painful angle to avoid being garroted. My hands were still tied, and the knot had decided to slip and become painfully tight. If I lifted my arms, what little circulation there was in my hands ceased.

Thanks to your clever bondage -- You planned all this carefully, right? Sure you did -- you were able to pull my pants down around my ankles.

Now whatever body heat I had managed to maintain was completely dissipated. Something prickly was rubbing all along the backs of my legs. Probably nettles. I was soaked and throbbing cold, so tense from trying to preserve body heat that I was jerking now rather than shivering. And did this please you? I doubt you noticed.

You pulled your baggy little trousers down just far enough to expose your skinny ass, and you lowered your stinky stubbly cunt over my face. I could tell you were a big meat eater, and I could tell you got a lot of fiber in your diet. I could tell you didn't believe in killing very damn many trees when you were wiping yourself.

You loosened the bit to free my tongue.

When I did not eagerly start to munch you, you shoved yourself onto my face so hard that I could not breathe and the chain strangled me. I stuck my tongue into your twat so I would not die. You lifted up just enough so I could loosen the tension of the chain.

I got busy with my tongue because I was sure my survival depended upon it.

The rest of my body continued to jerk uncontrollably from the painful chill. You must have interpreted this as lust. You changed your position so you could reach my cunt with your hand. The only moisture there, of course, was from the cold drips deposited by the nettle plantation. So you rubbed harder. At least the friction slightly warmed my crotch.

You came quickly -- at least that was merciful. The jerking of your hips, shoving my head around and choking me again, was not. Mercifully, you also did not insist upon multiple orgasms. Otherwise, I am sure I would not be here to tell this story.

You pulled up your pants and stepped between my legs. You spit on your hand and my cunt, then decided to shove your whole hand inside me. My cunt is small, although the rest of my body is big. Nobody fists me. I tried to tell you so. You fastened the bit in my mouth again.

You continued to spit on me and press your hand into my cunt. It hurt so much that it competed with the pain in my neck from holding my head up.

I was cold and itchy and aching and going numb. Was I going to live through this?

I started to cry. Big girls do cry. My nose stopped up with snot. Tears and saliva ran down my face and neck. Snot ran down my cheeks.

That's when your fist slipped inside me.

And I noticed there was a moon above me through the trees. And stars. The Milky Way was brilliant.

I hated you, and my cunt clutched your hand. My hips were numb, but they rolled around your wrist, pulling and sucking on your fist inside me.

Big waves of something, maybe orgasm or maybe something else, rolled through my belly and up through my chest and out my mouth and the top of my head. My legs were too numb to even feel the nettles pricking, but the bones seemed to warm from the waves.

I took big gurgly breaths through the saliva and snot, choking on the snot running down the back of my throat, yodeling at the stars.

I have never been so miserable in my life, and the way I was coming was completely foreign to me. I hated you for taking this from me. The more I detested you, the stronger the waves.

You pushed hard and hurt me inside. You twisted your fist around. There was not enough room or enough lube. It hurt. I came again.

You punched me inside. I thought you were going to puncture me. It hurt. I stopped coming. My cunt clamped down, cramped around your hand. You said, "Ow." I gurgled because, thanks to you, I could not say "Ow." The cramps were hard and as rhythmic and uncontrollable as the orgasms had been. It hurt.

I wanted your hand out of there. I wanted your hand out, and my neck back, and I wanted to pull up my pants and get warm. I wanted to put salve on my nettle rash. I wanted you out of me. I tried to relax so you could pull your hand out. You were pulling. I could not relax, you could not pull your hand out. "Ow," you said, "let go!" This made the cramps almost worth it because I hurt all over and I was cold and numb and I hated you.

I grunted rhythmically until you had the bright idea to loosen the bit again. "Neck," I said, "neck neck neck." I wanted to form a sentence but I could not. "Neck!" Bright little fool that you were, you did unfasten the leash. Oh glorious relief. My head dropped onto the cold. I shivered more, tensed up. Cramping. "Ow!!!" you said.

"Warm," I said. "Warm please warm."

You were still. I could tell by the position of your head where its outline was blocking the stars that you were listening, confused.

"Warm! Please warm."

You finally got it. You finally lowered your skinny blonde self over me, pressed your slight weight into me. You slid up and down on my legs, rubbed my belly with your cheeks and chest and free hand. I began to tingle. Life was returning. And the glimmer of hope that you were not, indeed, going to succeed in killing me allowed me to breathe, to speak to my cunt, to will it to relax.

It still hurt a lot when you pulled your hand out. You pulled it out too fast and too harshly, hurting yourself but hurting me a lot more. "Ow," you said. "Ow FUCK," I said. "OUCH!" But it was gone. Lube, warm lube was running down between my butt cheeks.

"Untie me," I said, proud of my first sentence.

You fumbled the tangled knot and rope until you finally got me undone enough to pull my hands out of the mess. I immediately stood up, pulled my pants up, took the chain off my neck and flung it as far as I could into the dark.

"Back to the car now," I said. I said it quietly. You, I think, flinched at the quiet seriousness in my voice.

This time I walked free behind you, barely stumbling although I could not feel my feet at all.

I sat up front with you. I turned the heat up as high as it would go. I pulled a greasy, dog-smelling blanket from the back and wrapped it around me. I looked at the dark and the white dots on the road. Each dot was nearer my home, warmth, a hot bath, away from you. You said nothing, made no sound. I did not look at you.

The bookstore was closed and dark by the time we returned there. You stopped the car, I hopped out, I walked toward my car without looking back. I never wanted to see you again. Never couldn't start soon enough for me.

Finally at home, I soaked in hot water until all of my body was alive again. I swathed myself in flannel over the salve on my nettle burns. Curled up under my own warm, sweet-smelling blanket, I drifted off into sleep.

My dream was of being fucked hard on ice, actual ice, by you. My traitor cunt seized and released, cramping and coming hard at the same time. It woke me up. I was shivering and sweating, the blanket bunched around me.

You cold bitch. What have you done to me.

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Copyright © 2002, Lydia Swartz and Cathexis, Inc.