Old story: Captive of the Tide

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Old story: Captive of the Tide

Postby Chimerix » Mon Mar 08, 2021 5:43 am

Aloha all!

I dunno why, but I was combing thru some old files and came across a stash of stories I wrote way-back-when. I'm convinced I've posted them here before, but searching shows no results. Anyway, I thought I'd roll them out again.

This one is a tale of bondage, revenge, and murder. Grim endings ahead!

Captive of the Tide

Poe had it right when he talked about the delicacies of revenge. Like the villain in "The Tale-Tell Heart," I was most cautious not to let my intentions or emotions alter my interactions with Shanna. It was with a most evil joy that I continued to cater to her every whim, satisfy her every desire. Indeed, I had no intention of her infidelity interfering with our relationship in the least until I crafted an appropriate ending.

Weeks of research finally produced the idea combination of facts. Ecstatic, I phoned Shanna on Friday with plans of an exotic weekend retreat to a secluded North Carolina beach. Her hesitancy quickly succumbed to my exuberance, and soon we were off with a car full of luggage. Nothing in that car would seem unusual to a young couple who dabbled in S&M except, maybe, for the two cinder blocks I grabbed spontaneously from the parking lot as we departed our duplex. "They'll make good chairs" I said in response to her quizzical look.

Timing was absolutely everything. I drove faster than necessary the whole trip, only to waste almost two hours browsing a roadside souvenir stand. Like I said, timing was critical.

It was nearly two in the afternoon that Saturday when we pulled out of a hardwood forest onto a pristine beach of alabaster sand and turquoise surf. I parked near the end of the logging trail that had led us to this secluded paradise, scarcely half a mile from tourist laden beaches north and south. We ran from the car, flinging our clothes off in a reckless charge to the sea. We laughed and splashed and frolicked in the chilly brine for a time, then returned to the car for lunch. I dug out a well-worn beach blanket, carrying it down towards the water's edge, then returning for the cinder blocks. Shanna laughed at my clumsy waddle, saddled by a block on either side, as she carried the lunch basket. She preferred to sit on the blanket, saying my "chairs" were far to hard.

Timing was everything.

After a light lunch, we nuzzled and made love in the sunshine, then settled back for a nap. I waited until the slow, rhythmic rise of those creamy breasts indicated slumber, then gently extricated myself from the tangle of limbs.

Timing was perfect!

I produced from the car a pair of padded restraints. Doubtless you know the ones I refer to, wide cuffs lined with soft material for secure yet gentle bondage. To each of these was attached about 5 feet of clothesline. The cuffs I gently secured to her ankles with dainty padlocks; the cords, to the two cinder blocks, after dragging them off the edge of the blanket. Then I sat beside her, gently stroking her face and hair, waiting for precisely 17 more minutes.

Timing. Perfect timing.

I awoke her with a nip to the neck. Her startled breath as she sat up changed to a sly smile as she realized her position. "Chairs, my ass. You had this planned all along, didn't you?" "Indeed I have, my sweet," I replied, breathing hotly in her ear, an erection mounting against her side. "Well, you should have brought more cinder blocks! I'm not properly tied up!"
"Adequately, if not properly. Wait here a moment" as I rose and retrieved the video camera from the car.

Absolutely perfect.

"Hey!" she exclaimed as I sat on the bumper, camera on. "These things are pulling on me!" Indeed, the cinder blocks were now halfway buried in the sand, their clothesline leashes straining at Shanna's ankles. I had no reply.

"Well, aren't you going to come over here and rape me?" she asked coyly, forgetting for a moment the irritation on her ankles. I waited.

"Oh, is it going to be THAT game?" I taped. The cinder blocks could no longer be seen.

"Wait a minute... the blocks are sinking. Come let me loose... they're pulling at my ankles!" I watched, savoring the vision as her curved ass settled into the softening sand beneath the blanket.

"Oh, God, I'm sinking!!! What's going on?" Finally, I have a reply. "Quicksand," quoth I.

The panic that paints her face is delightful to see as her feet begin sliding under the sand. "Normally, of course, quicksand is nothing to fear. Normally, you'd float at armpit level. Normally, you wouldn't be tied to two cinder blocks." I stop talking, not wanting to ruin subsequent viewings of this tape with my own gloating.

"You've got to help me! Please! Why are you doing this? I love you!" She pleads, screams, cries, and generally performs all the histrionics movie damsels in movie quicksands pioneered. I ignore her verbiage, concentrating on the seductive squirms and convulsions of her struggles. The flexing and writhing of her white, athletic stomach as it disappears beneath the undulating quicksand is riveting. The swaying of her breasts as the quicksand approaches then consumes
them is delightful. I zoom in particularly tight as her shoulders disappear, focusing on the closing tide of quicksand over the smooth white curves.

For the finale, I lay flat on the ground, documenting an eye-level version of the quicksand's possession of Shanna's lovely neck. She always did have a long and gorgeous throat... pity it wasn't a few yards longer. As her chin met the sand, she began screaming insults. I nearly laughed aloud the first time she gagged on the quicksand, nearly swallowing then spitting out quite a mouthful. As her face tilted farther back, desperate for those last seconds of air, I stood slowly, wanting a full facial shot as the quicksand gracefully rolled over those closed green eyes, those full, soft lips, and that slightly-too-long nose. I zoomed out, wanting to include the slowly disappearing arms with the footage of her blonde-dyed-red hair slithering out of sight. After the tips of those oh-so-soft fingers disappeared into tiny dimples on the surface, I kept taping until a short series of bubbles came to the surface, gently opening maws into which the quicksand poured itself as if never disturbed. I have to give her credit... she could really hold her breath.
The difference between theory and reality is that, in theory, there is no difference between theory and reality.

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