The Cave

by Lobo De la Sombra

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© Copyright 2014 - Lobo De la Sombra - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-F; M/f; D/s; cave; collar; cuffs; chain; strip; shackle; leash; bond; cons; X

It was called Lost Cave. A natural cavern, it served as home for runaways, derelicts, anyone who had no place else to go. The police never entered Lost Cave. Indeed, they never even went near the narrow entrance to the cavern. Nobody did who had a choice. Until Sheila Johnson appeared.

Slipping through the narrow opening, Sheila gazed around, feeling a vague sense of disappointment. From the stories she’d been told, she’d almost expected to see a huge cavern, crammed with people. Instead, she looked upon a medium sized cave.

The inhabitants came closer to her expectations. More than two dozen people occupied the cave, their clothing ragged. As she examined them, a small group in tattered denims moved toward her, surrounding her.

Glancing around her, Sheila suddenly began feeling nervous. All males, all young, the group surrounding her numbered perhaps ten, and the look in their eyes made her wonder if maybe she’d made a mistake.

“Hey, Snake,” one of the men around her called out. “Come see what we found.” Stepping forward, the youth raked his eyes down her body, taking in the smart blue skirt and matching jacket.

“Looks like a lawyer to me,” another voice said. The youth standing in front of Sheila sneered.

“Is that what you are?” he asked. “A lawyer? We don’t need no lawyers here.” He fingered the lapel of her jacket, then flattened his hand and pressed it to her chest. “Could use another woman, though.” He glanced over her shoulder. “No screams,” he said.

Before Sheila realized that he wasn’t talking to her, she felt a hand cover her mouth, pulling her head back against someone she only then realized had moved to stand directly behind her. Her protests came out muffled, unintelligible, as the youth in front of her unbuttoned her jacket, slipping his hand beneath and cupping one breast. Grinning, he reached for the top button of her blouse.

“Enough!” The youth’s head snapped to one side, his eyes widening. Quickly, he stepped back.

“I didn’t mean nothing’,” he said quickly. “Just being friendly.”

“Ox, let her go.” The hand covering her mouth vanished. Sheila turned toward the voice of command.

He was older than the group surrounding her, Sheila saw, dressed in faded jeans and white t-shirt. Calm, tired green eyes watched as she buttoned the jacket that had gaped open under the youth’s hands. For a second, it seemed as though his gaze sharpened, then he shook his head.

“This,” he told her, “is no place for the likes of you. Go back where you belong.”

Under that gaze, Sheila suddenly felt braver. Somehow, she knew this man would let nothing harm her. “And what if I think this is where I belong?” she asked, her tone bringing a brief smile to the man’s lips.

“In that case,” he replied, “I would say you are either a fool or a believer. Which is it?”

Sheila introduced herself, adding, “I’m from the Human Services Department.”

“And what,” the man asked, “Is HS doing sending you here?”

“Nobody sent me,” Sheila replied. “I came on my own, to see if I could help these people.”

“Help them how?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Sheila said. The man gazed at her for a moment, then turned away.

“With me,” he said, and Sheila scurried to catch up with him.

“What do you know about this place,” he asked, as they neared the back of the cave.

“Only what I’ve heard,” she replied, eyeing what looked to be the mouth of a tunnel cut into the cave’s rear wall.

“And that is?”

“That this is the last resort for runaways, homeless people, vagrants. The ones society doesn’t want around.”

“And you think you can help them?” The man sounded skeptical.

“Somebody should,” she shot back, “don’t you think?”

“You haven’t been with HS long, have you?”

Sheila glared, then her eyes fell. “A month.”

The man shook his head. “Fresh out of college?” he asked. “And now here you are, ready to save all the dispossessed people. In a city that doesn’t care if these people live or die. In fact,” he went on, his voice dark, “I think they’d be happier if everyone here simply vanished.”

“I know,” Sheila replied. “I tried to get some kind of program started, something to help, but everyone just said there wasn’t enough money in the budget. Even the director turned me down.”

“Right before he drove away in his Mercedes, right?” Startled, Sheila glanced at the man beside her.

“How did you know?” His only reply was an enigmatic smile. With an ironic bow, he ushered her into the opening.

The tunnel, she saw, was long, straight, and, surprisingly, lighted. A wire stretched along the roof, from which dangled light bulbs at regular intervals. On either side of the tunnel were openings, voices coming from those nearest. Stunned, Sheila stared.

“How big is this place?” she asked.

“Big enough,” the man replied, leading her along the tunnel. Sheila glanced into the openings they passed, seeing people in each one. Again, she was surprised when she realized that each of the small caves lining this tunnel was furnished, threadbare though the furnishings might be.

Suddenly, a young woman erupted from an entrance ahead of them. Stopping just outside the cave, she bent at the waist, pulling down her shorts and waving her bare ass behind her.

“And you can kiss it where it counts,” she yelled, her voice taunting.

“Becky!” The girl jumped, straightening and pulling up her shorts as she turned to face Sheila’s guide.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” she said hastily. “But they were really getting on my nerves.”

“You bare that in public again,” the man said sternly, “and I’ll spank it.”

The girl blushed vividly. “Yes, Jim.” Turning she darted down the tunnel, only to vanish into an opening further down.

“Jim?” The man shrugged. “I’m sorry, but you hadn’t told me your name.” His only reply was another shrug. Quietly, he continued to lead her down the tunnel. Sheila gazed curiously into each opening they passed.

Behind one opening, in a cave much larger than the others, she saw several people moving around a number of old stoves, the smell of cooked food wafting out to surround her. In another, a man behind a battered desk abruptly covered the money he’d been counting, his eyes suspicious as he gazed at her.

“Jim,” he said simply.

“It’s ok, Bob,” the man beside her replied. “She’s harmless.” The man, Bob, nodded, but kept his hands over the money until they had passed the door.

Finally, after several minutes, Sheila found herself ushered into another small cave. Jim, her guide, leaned against another battered desk, gesturing her toward a chair. She sank onto the seat, then stared up at him.

“How?” Sheila’s voice conveyed her amazement. “They have electricity, food. And where did that money come from? Is this some kind of drug operation?”

Jim laughed sourly. “Not hardly,” he replied. “These people may not have much, but they’ve earned every bit of it honestly.

“The electricity,” he went on, “is subsidized, I guess you could say. As for the food and the money, it’s theirs by rights. A lot of these people work day jobs in the city, doing the things nobody else wants to do. The conditions are bad, the pay worse, but it’s all they can get. And they pool their money to buy food and other necessities. The furniture comes from trash piles, mostly, but some of it comes from places like Goodwill. These people are not crooks. They’re simply the ones society doesn’t want around. So they come here.”

“And you’re their leader?”

Jim smiled and shook his head. “They have a council,” he told her. “It makes all the decisions here.”

“But they defer to you. Like the guys in the cave. And that girl, Becky.”

“They listen to me,” Jim said. “They know I won’t do anything against them. Otherwise, you might have found yourself in a bad spot. Especially wearing that.” His gaze went to the neck of her blouse. Sheila’s hand went to her throat, and she froze as she felt leather beneath her fingers.

“These people, some of them, live off what society considers the proper path,” she heard Jim say. “Wearing that, you’ll find yourself drawing attention you may not want.” His gaze sharpened. “Does your owner know you’re here?”

Sheila flushed. “Nobody owns me,” she said.

Jim gestured toward the leather at her throat. “Then why do you wear that?”

Sheila’s flush deepened. “It was given to me,” she said, “back in college. After we graduated, we went our separate ways. But, sometimes, I put it on, just to remember how it felt back then. I guess I forgot to take it off this morning.”

“You shouldn’t wear it at all,” Jim told her, “unless it’s for real.” He leaned forward, reaching toward her. Sheila stiffened, but offered no resistance as he removed the leather collar from her throat. He sat back, fingering the supple leather, then turned his eyes on her. Under his gaze, Sheila shivered once.

“So you wanted to remember how it felt. Do you miss the feeling?” Blushing, she nodded. “And you wish you could feel it again.” It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway. For a moment, he continued to gaze at her, then nodded.

“Stand.” Suddenly nervous, Sheila rose to her feet, watching as he moved the chair away from her. Slowly, quietly, he circled her, and she could feel his eyes touch every part of her body. In front of her once more, he turned to fact her squarely.

“Jacket.” Sheila’s hands fumbled for a moment at the buttons, then she slipped the jacket from her shoulders. Unsure what to do with it, she simply held it until he took it from her and laid it on the desk.

“Stand straight.” Immediately, her back straightened, her shoulders drew back. The motion caused her breasts to thrust out against the front of her blouse. Again he circled her, and again she felt his eyes on her.

When he stood in front of her once more, his hands went to the buttons of her blouse, unbuttoning them slowly. When the last button was free, he reached up and unfastened the front clasp of her bra, letting the cups swing away, freeing her breasts. His eyes locked on hers, Jim cupped the firm globes, squeezing softly.

Sheila was stunned, not only by his actions, but by her response. Or, more to the point, her lack of response. She could have pushed his hands away. She could have stepped back. She could have told him, or at least asked him, not to touch her like that. Instead, she simply stood, her eyes caught in his gaze, unable to deny him. When his hands fell away, she felt a sense of disappointment that he no longer touched her.

For a moment, he simply looked at her, before moving behind the desk. Opening a drawer, he reached inside. When the hand emerged, she saw the gleam of metal, heard the soft rasp as links moved against each other. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him approach her again.

Silently, he fastened steel cuffs around her wrists, binding her hands in front of her. He then knelt, fastening cuffs around her ankles. The chain connecting the cuffs held her hands at her waist. Rising, he placed a different collar around her neck, then snapped a leash onto a ring mounted on the collar’s front. Finished, he stepped back, watching as she examined the chains now binding her. When her eyes rose to meet his once more, she saw the question there.

“You allowed me to place those chains on you,” he said softly. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, just as softly. “Part of me wanted to stop you. I mean, I only just met you today. But another part of me wanted you to. That part won out. I just don’t understand why.”

Jim smiled gently. “Do you want me to remove them?” he asked. Sheila gazed at him for a moment, then slowly shook her head.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Somehow, it feels right.”

Jim nodded, then reached toward her. For a moment, Sheila expected to feel his hands on her again, and she was surprised to realize that was exactly what she wanted to feel. Instead, he refastened the clasp of her bra, only touching her breasts in order to settle them into the cups. He then buttoned her blouse. Taking her jacket in one hand, the leash in the other, he drew her from the cave.

This, she thought, was the point where she should stop him. Should resist. To be led out among these people, chained and leashed. It was humiliating. He was treating her like a slave.

The words echoed in her mind. Like a slave. Like an obedient slave following her Master. The words sent a shiver through her as she quietly followed him back along the tunnel, her eyes down, unable to look back at the people she knew were watching her pass.

The walk seemed endless, but, finally, they crossed the front cavern and emerged into the afternoon light. Jim led her down a path, finally arriving at the small dirt road where her car was parked. Glancing at the three year old Chevy, he smiled.

“Spent most of your money on clothes, did you?” he asked, bringing a flush to her face. “To present the right image in the office?” Her flush deepened, and she could only nod.

“Well,” he said, “now you have a new image.” At her puzzled look, he smiled. “By now,” he said, “the word has started spreading. Soon, everyone will know you belong to me.” At his words, she felt a shiver run through her, and her eyes dropped. “I don’t know what good you can do,” she heard him say, “but now you’ll be safe enough to try.”

“Now that I belong to you,” she said, wondering at the husky sound entering her voice.


Eager to change the subject, she glanced around. “How did you get here? I don’t see another car.”

Jim smiled again. “I walked,” he said, pointing toward the top of the hill over the cave. Sheila looked up, and something clicked into place.

Jim. No, she corrected herself, make that James. As in James Woodson. Almost in awe, she looked at the man holding her leash. In his faded jeans and shirt, he certainly didn’t fit the image of the richest man for hundreds of miles in any direction you chose to look. As she looked at him, Sheila tried to remember the bits and pieces she’d heard.

James Woodson. Rich, but reclusive. Almost never seen outside his large home. And never seen within that home. As far as she knew, nobody had been allowed to enter that house in years. Nobody even knew anybody who’d ever worked in that house. It was rumored that he kept a full staff of nubile young women, to serve his every need. Somehow, Sheila thought, such a story, with its hints of depravity, didn’t fit this man with the soft, warm smile.

As she watched him, Jim reached into his pocket. “I know I have the keys here somewhere,” he said, tapping her chains with his other hand. A sudden thought brought a grin to Sheila’s face.

“Maybe you left them at your house,” she said softly. Jim’s fingers stopped their search through his pocket at her words. “Maybe we should go see. Don’t you think we should?” In an even softer voice, a whisper he could barely hear, she said, “Don’t you think so, Master?”

* * *

“Hey She.”

Sheila glanced around. “Oh,” she said, “hey Ox. How does something as big as you move so quietly?”

He grinned. “Practice.”

Sheila returned the grin. “Back from work?” He nodded. “Good. There are three more boxes in the truck. Think you could help haul them to the kitchen for me?” Her grin turned ironic. “I’m not much good for carrying these days, you know.”

“But mighty fine to look at,” Ox shot back, turning toward the cave entrance. Sheila’s laugh followed him outside.

Alone once more, Sheila turned to move deeper into the cave. Feeling totally at ease in her worn denim shorts and halter, she casually returned the greetings of the people she passed.

It had been nearly six months since that fateful day. Jim had led her to his home, where she found he lived alone. Girls from the cavern came once a week to clean, as thanks for his help. It turned out he owned the property over the cavern, and that the electricity the people there enjoyed came from his house.

“They won’t let me just give it to them, though,” he’d told her. “These people don’t have much, but one thing they do have a lot of is pride. So they pay me.” He grinned. “Fortunately, they don’t know the going rate, so they have no idea they’re paying less than half of what the electricity actually costs.” He had then sworn her to secrecy.

He’d done other things as well, both that day, and in the many eventful days that followed. Things she’d thought about, dreamed about, but never really expected to experience. Within a month, she’d moved in, devoting herself to him, and to the people in the cave, even though he insisted she keep her regular job.

To his surprise, she’d managed to push a grant proposal through the department. The Lost Cave was now a federally subsidized home for low income workers. Jim had been delighted, and Sheila still blushed at the thought of exactly how he’d expressed his gratitude for her efforts.

Blushing now, she glanced down. Yes, the rope marks were still plainly visible from last night. And no, there was no way she was going to try to hide them. Her Master had put those marks there, and she wore them proudly, for all to see.

Smiling, she moved into the cave, the silver of her collar gleaming in the light, her chains rattling softly, to see what else her Master might wish of her today.


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20.09.14 | updated - 07.05.17