Subject: SUBMIT jea04_dangling.txt To: david huberman <dhuberma@nickel.ucs.indiana.edu> Copyright 1994, all rights reserved. Feel free to copy in its unaltered form. The following contains non-consensual sex. Consider yourself warned. Dangling She felt a moment of frustrated laughter bubble up from her chest and die on her lips. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so *true*. It *was* just like a Reader's Digest "Drama in Real Life" story. She didn't laugh because the ending hadn't been written yet. She kicked the air in a futile effort to reach the ground. Her wrists were beginning to ache very seriously, and the muscles in her arms felt like they were going to split. There was a gash in her side where a tree branch had stuck her. She couldn't tell if it was bleeding or not, but it hurt enough to make her worry. She wanted down. It was very much like a "Drama in Real Life" story, but it was also uncomfortably similar to a page three newspaper story as well: "Foolish Woman Hikes Alone: Falls Off Cliff, Survives, Then Starves." It made for a long title and a short story. She was in trouble and she knew it. It started innocently enough, of course. She and a friend planned on taking a hike up the mountain in the middle of the week, just to get out and enjoy the good weather while it lasted. The trail was well marked and well tended, the poison oak and stinging nettles kept at bay by sturdy volunteers. Unfortunately, the trail was also well traveled, but in the middle of the week it seemed the whole mountain was deserted. But at the last minute her friend begged of. He had fallen victim to the flu bug that had been passing around, and he could barely get out of bed. She had decided that she would go anyway; she had the afternoon off and she wanted to get out of the house. There was only one potentially dangerous part of the trip to the top of the mountain: fifty yards or so of path that was steep enough as to approach rock climbing. Loose rock made the face slippery. Indeed, the path was closed during mudslide season. But long ago someone had installed a rope for those who needed a little help getting up the hill. Attached here and there with the kind of clips that climbers use, the rope winded up the path like a friendly snake. In fact, the most difficult part was also the most beautiful. Perched over a cliff, a climber was treated to a view of the valley between the two mountains, with the river in the distance. It was a glorious sight in all seasons, with the most magical moments coming in the fall when fog filled the valley. At moments like these a climber felt like he was on a magical island that had escaped the creeping tentacles of fog. She had been standing there only moments ago, gazing across the valley, awed by its beauty. The sun shined brightly; any lingering fog had long since burned away. She had been enjoying the hike, the exercise making her legs feel warm and supple. She loved this section of the path, where she climbed more than she hiked. Letting her eyes sweep over the horizon, she rested a few more moments before moving on. At this point in the path it was necessary to climb over a small ridge. It was here that the rope was most useful. Looking up to remind herself just where she needed to climb, she gripped the rope and gave it a reassuring tug. Not much farther to go now. She began to carefully climb the ridge. It was only about twelve feet of climbing, but any fall on this rock would be painful. She made her way slowly, keeping one hand on the rope and securing her footholds before she moved on. When she was in the middle of the ridge, her right foot suddenly slipped, throwing her off balance. She grabbed at the rope with both hands to steady herself, and felt a sickening jerk when the clip at the top of the ridge, rusted and old, broke. Still clinging to the rope, she swung uncontrollably off to her left. She felt her body slam against the side of the mountain, and she caught a sickening view of the valley. She was just over the cliff. Her body jerked again as somewhere above her the rope gave away. It was suddenly no longer supporting her, and she frantically grabbed at the rocks and roots of trees on the side of the cliff. All around her head the rope was falling, getting tangled in her arms and spraying bits of dirt and gravel into her face. A large piece of tree--the tree that the rope had been tied to--fell on her, and dislodged her. She was falling. She didn't fall very far, but she had enough time to remember that there were no people on the mountain in the middle of the week. She had enough time imagine herself crumpled at the base of the cliff, bleeding and broken, with no help in sight. She hand enough time to grasp and push at the rope that was tangled around her head and shoulders. She felt herself falling through a tree, the branches whipping at her but slowing her fall. She landed sideways on a thick branch, which knocked the wind out of her. As she slumped and slid off the branch, she had the presence of mind to try to grab it with her hands. She didn't know how far down the ground was. Her hands were tangled in the rope, and she couldn't get a grip on the tree. A branch dug into her side as she fell, and she reached for it desperately. A detached part of her mind saw that a loop of rope caught on it it, a fact she did not notice but that she would recall later. The tree was gone and she was falling again. It felt like someone tried to rip her arms out. The rope had caught on the branch of the tree and tightened around her wrists until her fall suddenly ceased. She was dangling by her wrists, one tangled hopelessly in the coils of rope, the other caught by her bracelet on the rusted out clip. Absurdly, cruelly, she was only a few inches off the ground. When she had caught her breath, she could kick out one foot and feel the leaves beneath her feet. She could not put any of her weight on the ground, but she could feel it there. Drama in Real Life. She had a moment to be thankful that the rope had not coiled around her neck, or she would be dead. But if she didn't get free, she would become just as dead, only her death would be much slower. So she began to trash and pull, trying to free her hands or stretch the rope enough to stand on the ground. She only succeeded and tightening the rope around her wrists. And there she dangled. She thought she heard a rustling sound nearby. She began screaming for help, hoping against hope that it was a hiker, and that she could be freed. The rustling sound grew louder, more like footsteps, and the hope welled up in her chest, trying to choke her. When she saw a man step out of the woods, she almost wept with relief. "Please help me, I fell off the cliff. I can't free my hands," she sputtered at him. The man was wearing a heavy backpack, which he removed and set aside. "You fell off the cliff?" he asked her, coming near her. "Yes, please help me." "And your hands are trapped?" "Yes!" What was he waiting for? But the man made no motion to free her. He just walked around her, examining her. "What are you doing? Do you have a knife or something? Cut me down!" she demanded. But he only stepped up behind her, testing the rope twisted around her wrists. "Interesting," he said, and she felt her first moment of fear. The next moment came soon after, as he began running his hands along her smooth tanned legs under her cut-off jeans. She began to scream and kick out at him, causing herself to swing crookedly. He evaded her legs easily, and continued to touch her, running his hands across her ass and up her sides. "You fucking bastard, cut me down, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" she yelled, still trying to kick him. It was like he didn't even notice. "Beautiful," he said dreamily, reaching around her from behind and cupping her breasts in both hands. "Absolutely beautiful." She could hardly believe what was happening when he turned her around and began fumbling at the buttons on her shorts. She kicked at him, but he didn't seem to care. He tugged at her shorts, and succeeded in pulling them off. She began to thrash as hard as she could, screaming for help, but she had no true leverage, and in moments he had succeeded in pulling off her underwear as well. Rather than listen to her scream, he shoved her underwear in her mouth, and secured it there with a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket. Although she was still trying to kick him, he began to unbutton her shirt. When he was finished, he fished an army knife out of his pocket and used it to cut through her bra. He pushed the bra and shirt away, and stepped back. She was quite a sight. Naked except for her shirt and the remnants of her bra by her shoulders, she hung there, thrashing and yelling into her gag. He admired her trim body and pert breasts as she tried in vain to free her arms. Who says there's no pot of gold at the end of a rainbow? She could hardly believe this was happening to her. As he approached her again, unzipping his pants and pulling out his hard cock, she tried to swing away, free her arms, *anything* to avoid his intentions. But she was trying to avoid the inevitable. He managed to position himself between her legs. As she tried to trash and kick at him, she only succeeded in rubbing herself against his cock. He put one arm around her, holding her steady. With the other hand, he guided his cock to her pussy. With one thrust, he was inside her. She screamed into her gag, making only a muffled noise. He began to move against her, thrusting into her violently. He held a breast in one hand, feasting on her nipple hungrily. Her wrists ached as each thrust lifted her a bit, and then dropped her. His hips rubbed against her clit as he pushed into her, and her traitorous body began to respond. Although she kicked and screamed, she began to approach orgasm. Her movements only excited him more, and he began to fuck her like a crazed thing, shoving inside her with great force. It was more than she could take, and she came in shuddering waves. He was not far behind, grunting and jerking with his own orgasm. He held on to her, adding some of his own weight to her already strained wrists, as he recovered. Then, he pulled away from her, and tucked himself back into his pants. She sobbed behind him as he lifted his backpack and settled it onto his back. He turned to her, and tipped an imaginary cap. "Thank you kindly," he said mockingly to her. She watched him walk off into the woods, leaving her dangling there naked, a line of cum and lubrication dribbling down her thigh. As she saw him disappear, it occurred to her that her story was no longer appropriate for the Drama in Real Life. =========================================================================== Comments appreciated. -Jea 9/94 an41381@anon.penet.fi