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    Saturation. That’s what I crave. I remember a day a long time ago. I was a little girl playing by myself. The shine off the lake blinded. The catcalls of the crows echoed through the trees. I heard a sound in the woods. A shuffling of leaves. And voices, hushed. So I snuck close, tucking myself into a thicket of elderberry. I didn’t know the man or the lady, but he’d tied her face first to a tree. She was naked. And the bole of the tree thrust out, so that the way he tied her, with her arms circling the trunk, her ankles circling also, forced her rear outward. And she wasn’t struggling. No ma’am, she wasn’t. And he touched her butt, sliding his palms in circles, squeezing. And his fingers walked up her ribs to her nipples, young and firm and hard, a slight shade of brown darker than her skin. She smiled, sleepy, her eyes closed. She moaned. He slapped her butt. He pinched it. And he unzipped his pants. And he walked up behind her. And he wasn’t wearing a shirt, so the light in the woods dappled his skin deep and rich and dark. After that, I lay awake most nights, remembering his hands between her legs, the shudder of her nipples, his penis, big and hard and brown. The arch of her back. The ropes. The ropes. Thinking about them made me feel something strange and good between my legs so that I reached down. I used my fingers and touched myself. And I thought of those ropes. I felt them on my wrists, on my ankles. They were all over me. And the years went by. I grew breasts just like that lady in the woods. Hair fuzzed out between my legs. And I played around with a boy or two. . .well, maybe more. And I liked those boys and what they did, but it wasn’t ever right. Not like I had it in my mind. I never felt it all over me, and around me, and through and through. Until I met Him. He whispered in my ear telling me what he wanted to do to me. He’d talk about the wrap of the ropes. Of how, when my elbows are tied behind, it pushes the breasts out. And he’d tie a pole between my ankles so I couldn’t close my legs. I’ll tie you so hard and tight, he said, you can’t do nothing, can’t say nothing, can’t stop my hands, my fingers. I’ll take your titties, your cunt, your pretty little brown ass. He touched my chin. I’ll use that mouth of yours, he said, smiling. I’ll teach you what to do with that tongue. I like to fight him some. I like to pretend I’m in the woods tied to a tree. And he wraps rope after rope over me. And he fills my mouth with cloth and ties it in. And I can smell myself, hot and thick and dripping down. My tits ache, I want it so hard. My cunt opens wide, waiting, craving his cock, because I can’t move. I can’t hardly think when the ropes are all over me. Saturation. My clit is all through my body. It’s eating out my brain. Ropes tight and hard and gripping. He hangs me sideways from a beam. I’m tied at the neck, shoulder, elbows, waist, thighs, knees, and ankles. I close my eyes and smile. I moan. He brings his friends into the room and offers me to them. They touch me everywhere. They tweak my tits and spread the cheeks of my butt, sticking their fingers anywhere they please. They unzip. They rub their cocks on my face, my nipples, my pussy, the small of my back. Saturation. The shine off the lake blinds. And I hear a sound, shuffling and the rustle of leaves. When I come, I squirt. I scream. But the gag keeps me hushed. And I rest in the ropes, I am flushed with ropes, a dream that is deep and rich and dark.
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