The Cabin Ch. 01

Over the next ten years, I wrote countless stories featuring Adrian, though I never showed them to anyone – not even my college writing professors. Sometimes he was an assassin or an English teacher. Other times, he was a vampire or a shape-shifter or the owner of a marketplace dealing in sex and various paraphilias. The settings, events, and ancillary characters were interchangeable but the man remained as I remembered him: dark and playful, with twisted motives, always in control.

I loved writing about Adrian's exploits with various female characters, as it allowed me to live vicariously through them. I could never ask Peter to do the things that excited me, like spanking, bondage, or full-on master/slave roleplaying, but through Adrian, I was able to satisfy my deepest, most salacious cravings, albeit, not in the flesh. As far as Peter was concerned, I had simply decided to take on a heavier workload at the company. He never questioned it and I continued playing the role of dutiful wife and productive employee.

The bubbles were starting to dissipate and I could see glimpses of my nakedness through clear gaps in the bathwater. Imagining Adrian always managed to get my blood pumping and that night's reveries were no exception. I remembered the vibrator and blushed at the thought of using it. Sliding my hands over my thighs and calves, I pulled my legs apart and let the warm water caress my most intimate areas.

I could see Adrian's devilish half-smirk and square jaw in my mind's eye, the way his dark hair fell in waves about his shoulders and how his long, lean fingers never failed to identify the most effective method for inflicting just the right amount of pain or pleasure. My hands drifted closer to that forbidden area as I inhaled deeply, my nipples rising above the water and stiffening against the cooler air of the bathroom. I felt the familiar gush of anxiety and curled my fingers into a fist – I shouldn't let myself get like this, at least not without my laptop or a pen and paper handy.

BANG!

I leapt out of my skin at the sudden, unidentifiable clamor. Water spilled over the sides of the tub, churning violently in the wake of my involuntary shudder. I listened for anything that might inform me as to where the sound had originated but all I could hear was the barrage of wind against the cabin's exterior and the groaning of old beams. My arousal was now coated in a thick layer of terror as I wrapped my arms about my chest.

After waiting a few minutes, I raised myself from the water on unsteady legs. Grabbing my towel, I carefully stepped onto the marble tile and commenced drying myself, keeping my ears alert for anything unfamiliar. Wrapping the terrycloth around my torso, I tiptoed into the hall, peering around the doorframe before emerging into the empty, narrow space. I padded down the hallway on bare feet, peeking into each bed- and bathroom along the way.

I held firmly to the bannister as I descended the staircase, unable to stifle the unavoidable creaks. Nothing looked amiss in the kitchen and the living room was as I'd left it. I began to think that I'd imagined the sound, or that perhaps the wind had once again overturned the garbage bin on the back porch. Would I have heard that from all the way downstairs? I thought. Making my way towards the dining room, I felt a sudden chill as I stepped through the doorway and then halted in place, eyes wide with fear.

The door was open.

I stood there, weathering the occasional icy gust of wind as it blustered through the undefended doorway. My heart pounded in my ears as my mind raced with realizations: What if there's someone in the house? Why the hell did I decide to come here alone? Peter should have let me bring my fucking dog. Did I forget to lock this door before going upstairs? Should I call someone? With what little resolve I could muster, I marched over to the open door and slammed it shut, securing the deadbolt as well as the knob's locking mechanism.

I must've forgotten to turn the deadbolt, I thought, and the wind is so crazy tonight that it pushed the door open.

Still reeling from the discovery but determined to get a grip on myself, I slipped into the kitchen and grabbed a chef's knife. I checked every room and closet on the first floor before cautiously making my way upstairs. Each empty room brought about a sigh of relief, until the only ones left to check were the master bedroom and bath.

I crouched and peered beneath the king-size bed and inside the sparsely filled walk-in closet; nothing. Relieved, I returned to the bathroom and peeked inside the large glass shower, just to be certain.

All clear.

Resting my hip against the marble countertop, I breathed deeply, inhaling the lingering scent of rose and finally managing to get my heartbeat under control. I noticed the bag of toiletries I'd set on top of the toilet tank and went rummaging around for my prescription sleep aid. My doctor had instructed me to take one if I thought I might have trouble falling asleep due to stress or anxiety, and tonight certainly fit that description about ten times over. I placed the tablet under my tongue and let it dissolve, as instructed.

Seeing that I'd forgotten to drain the bathwater before searching the house, I reached in and yanked out the plug, the drain gurgling rhythmically as the water level receded until all that was left were tiny puddles and droplets glistening against the white porcelain. Turning back towards the mirror, I pinned my hair into a loose, high bun so that I could cleanse my face.

Bent over the sink, splashing warm water onto my cheeks and forehead, I found myself growing drowsier, my eyes heavy with chemically-induced fatigue. I turned off the water and reached for a hand towel, blotting the moisture from my face.

I heard a soft click and then the room went dark. I squinted towards the doorway to my right and saw nothing. Turning to my left, all I could see was the moon's gentle glow streaming in through the sheer curtains. Foggy and sluggish from the medication, I glanced at myself the mirror.

There was another face behind mine, half-illuminated by moonlight.

Fuck.

I tried to scream but my fight-or-flight response was strongly compromised by the medication, so it came out as more of a loud whimper. Frightened, yet exhausted, I attempted to make an unsteady break for the door.

A wide, leather-clad hand reached out and grasped my neck, holding me there. The man was strong and about a foot taller than me, though I couldn't get a clear look at his face. He squeezed, choking me, my own hands making feeble attempts to pry his off of my throat. Another gloved hand reached around from behind and tore the towel from my body, exposing me. He let out a long, satisfied growl.

"How good of you to dress for my arrival."

I knew that voice; that accent.

He dragged me into the bedroom while I, struggling to breathe, glanced around frantically for the chef's knife I'd left on the dresser.

"Are you looking for this?" he asked, holding the knife in front of my face and pressing himself against my backside, his hand still coiled around my neck.

I could feel my face growing hot as I struggled to breathe. He jabbed the knife into one of the bedside tables and then threw me, face down, onto the bed. The blankets had been folded back to expose the fitted sheet and I scrambled across it, reaching for the landline phone on the opposite table. The man grasped my ankle and pulled me back towards him, flipping me onto my back and pinning one of my arms to the bed. I reflexively reached up to strike him.

I knew that face.

My mind reeled with recognition. No, I thought. No, no, no, no, no. It can't be.

"Good to see you, too, darling," he said, that mischievous grin spreading across his features. He leaned down and kissed me, his tongue snaking its way between my lips.

It was Adrian. Or, rather, someone who looked and sounded – and tasted – exactly like him. I turned my face away and screamed, trying to shove him off of me, but I was weak and lethargic. He planted another kiss on my forehead and gave my cheek a light slap before cupping my chin in his gloved hand.

"You can't be here." My words were slurred, barely coherent. "This isn't possible. Get off me!" I squirmed beneath him, which only seemed to excite him more.

"I assure you, Aubrey, it is quite possible."

Adrian – or, whoever he was – ran a hand from the base of my throat, between my breasts, and down over my stomach, stopping just below my navel. I shivered, my mind struggling to grasp what was happening as my inner muscles tensed with recognition and excitement.

He stepped back, releasing me, and walked over to the dresser where he'd laid out some items. I took this opportunity to flee, stumbling towards the door and out into the hallway, clinging to the walls to keep myself from tripping.

"You can't leave now," he said, already three steps behind me. "We're just getting started." He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me into the air as I flailed my arms and legs, knocking paintings and photographs from the walls.

"No! Let me – gah!" I squealed.

"Careful," he chuckled. "They'll probably make you pay for those."

I fought him all the way back to the bed, where he once again threw me down and then climbed on to straddle my torso between his muscular thighs. The bulge in the front of his pants caught my attention and I feared its implications. With a few swift motions, he secured my hands to the bedposts with strips of soft leather – which bore an uncanny resemblance to the ones he'd used in a few of my stories. Sliding downward, he did the same to my feet, deftly evading my attempts to kick him in the face. Within seconds, I was completely helpless, like so many of my female characters.

My body was caught in a bewildered limbo between restlessness and sleep; fear and arousal; fascination and disbelief. There was no way in hell that this could actually be Adrian, but I couldn't deny the resemblance.

Once he'd made sure that I wasn't going anywhere, he slid off the bed and strutted about the room, casually removing his leather jacket and boots. My eyes followed him, surveying his lean physique and flawless complexion, with all of its beautiful angles; the way his dark hair rested upon his broad shoulders; his toned chest, discernible beneath the fitted, hunter green shirt he wore over faded black jeans – his usual garb.

Adrian stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, observing me, his eyes roving from my tightly bound ankles up to my tousled bun. He smiled that enchanting yet terrifying smile that implied careful calculation. I felt my eyelids drooping as my body began to succumb to the sleep aid and plush bedding.

"Oh, no you don't," he said, climbing back onto the bed. "You'll sleep when I say you can, and not one moment before."

I felt his hands on my thighs and I forced my eyes open to find him kneeling between my legs, inspecting me.

"You have such a lovely cunt," he said.

I flinched at his use of vulgarity. "Does that word offend you?" he asked. "Well, in that case, I'll have to use it more often."

"Please," I whispered. I thought about trying to bargain with him but I'd seen enough of these scenes in films and on television to know that this man clearly wasn't interested in money or expensive furniture.

"You're even more luscious in person," he cooed, crawling forward to pinch one of my nipples. I winced. Adrian's fingers lingered over my breast, teasing it. I felt my inner muscles tighten.

Narrowing his gaze upon my naked breasts, he reached his other hand up to perform a similar assault on the opposite nipple, flicking his fingertips against it in tandem with the first. I sighed, my lips parting instinctively as I watched him, my clitoris tingling in spite of my astonishment. Adrian raised his eyes to meet mine and I became transfixed. Even against the pull of the drug, I was more aroused in that moment than I had been in years.

Adrian held my stare as he lowered his face to my right breast, taking the nipple into his mouth, swirling his warm tongue over it as he playfully pinched the other. I moaned with pleasure and cried out in pain, torn between the two as he maintained unwavering eye contact.

He paused just long enough to say, "That's a good girl. Give into it."

I became aware of how vulnerable and exposed I felt. I shut my eyes, turning my face away, unable to tolerate his stare as he provoked such damnable reactions from me.

I heard the sound before I registered the sting. My eyes shot open at the realization that Adrian had slapped me hard across the face. I felt the tears brimming and streaming down my temples as he grasped my jaw firmly in his gloved hand, his face barely a few inches from mine.

"Did I say you could turn away?" he growled.

"Nn – no." My bottom lip quivered as I tried to stifle a sob.

"What did I say?"

"Y– you said," I stuttered, "give into it."

"Into what?" he asked, his eyes fierce, terrifying.

"The pain."

"And?"

"The, uh, pleasure?" I pursed my lips and swallowed hard as he gingerly ran a finger down my hot, tender cheek.

"Correct," he said. "You know what I think?"

I hesitated. "No?"

"I think you need a lesson in surrender." Adrian crawled back down over my torso, pausing only to nip the underside of my right breast with his teeth, until his face was level with my most intimate of places.

"I'm going to feast on your cunt now," he said.

I inhaled sharply. Peter had never volunteered to perform such an act and I certainly never asked him to.

"Does the thought of that make you uncomfortable?" he asked.

"Um, yes," I whispered, the anxiety mounting in my stomach as he parted my lips with his fingers, giving him an up-close and personal view of my sex in its entirety.

"Good."

Adrian ran two fingers along either side of my clitoris as he flicked it delicately with the tip of his tongue. I closed my eyes and extended my neck, my head tilting back in an attempt to disassociate myself from such bittersweet torture. It was one thing to write about someone like Adrian; it was another thing entirely to be subjected to his sadistic whims.

"Watch," he commanded, pinching my inner thigh. I wrenched my head forward, and registered the intensity in his eyes before he returned his attention to my clitoris.

I whined as his tongue roved about my tender flesh, caressing my sensitive nub and then sliding downward to tease the opening, tasting whatever juices had undoubtedly accumulated in reaction to his earlier assault upon my nipples. As much as I wanted to, I didn't dare look away. Instead, I watched with reluctant fascination as he consumed me, his tongue dipping inside me, roaming about my walls. I cried a little each time he paused to nip my inner thigh or flick his tongue rapidly against my clitoris.

In time, I found myself struggling against my bonds as my legs fought to spread themselves even further, allowing him better access. My throbbing cheek faded into the background as Adrian took charge of my body, his tongue undulating against me as his hands gripped my hips with fervor.

With his tongue focused on my swollen nub, Adrian drew a leather-clad hand between my legs and began caressing my opening. He glanced up at me with that familiar look of madness and surveyed my reaction as he slipped one gloved finger inside me, just as he had in my dream. I squealed at the combined sensations of him licking my clitoris and fucking me with his leather-coated appendage. Faster and harder, he pumped, now with two fingers, stretching and alerting me to sensitivities I didn't even know I had. I struggled against the constraints, my body instinctively wanting to thrust against him, to take him deeper.

The harder he licked and sucked, the less in-control I felt. If Adrian's goal was to teach me surrender, then he was succeeding. I began to feel a strong pressure building behind my clitoris and an involuntary tensing of my inner muscles as he moved his fingers inside me. There was no stopping the ascent, no halting the surge of pleasure and elation that poured forth from me, as I pushed through the lingering fatigue and let go of all of my doubt and anxieties for a few, precious moments. My entire body shuddered as I bore down, experiencing my first real orgasm, teeth clenched, toes curled, face contorted in such a way that there was no mistaking my acquiescence.

Adrian gave my clitoris a couple of long, slow laps and then slid his fingers out of me. My arms and legs were limp. He glided his hands over my inner thighs, leaving a thin trail of moisture on my skin, as I yielded to the inevitable call of sleep. I had almost completely drifted off when Adrian clamped his mouth upon me once more, dragging his tongue across my clitoris with such force that I was powerless to ignore it.

He laughed quietly as he gazed up at me, aware of my exhaustion but utterly indifferent to it. His tongue wagged against my tender, swollen nub and my legs twitched uncontrollably as he continued his unrelenting attack. I could feel the force of another orgasm building, this time much quicker and stronger than the last. Sweat accumulated on my brow and chest as I writhed beneath him, conceding yet again to the flood of pleasure between my legs, the muscles in my buttocks tensing as I thrust myself forward into his wicked mouth.

The next time, he didn't even bother pausing to let me come down. On he went, through to a third orgasm, my entire body twitching and convulsing, dripping with sweat. Then, a fourth and fifth, each one more draining than the last. My moans became whines, siren-like, high-pitched and pitiful. After a while, he crawled up alongside me, relying solely on his hands.

"Oh god," I whimpered. "Please, Adrian, it's too much."

"You will continue to come until I tire of you," he said, his eyes boring into mine as his gloved fingers thrummed across my sore, engorged clitoris at such a pace that I could no longer tell the difference between pleasure and pain. I tried tilting my pelvis downward to escape him, but it was no use, and each time the leather began to chafe against my raw nub, he would dip a finger inside me, collecting some of the copious juices that continued to flow as if from a tap. Then, he would return, slick and insistent, drawing yet another orgasm from me through tears and clenched teeth, as I stared into his unsympathetic eyes.

After twelve orgasms, he finally relented.

Every muscle in my body ached. My heart hammered against my chest as I stared up at the ceiling while Adrian, once again sprawled between my legs, casually penetrated me with one, lone, agonizing finger. I turned my head toward the bedside clock and noted that it was 4:00am; he'd been tormenting me for four straight hours.

"Not bad for your first bout," he teased.

"Hmm." I sighed, too exhausted to form proper words.

"Perhaps we should try for thirteen?"

"Ugh," I whimpered. My entire pelvis felt heavy, as though all of the blood in my body had concentrated there, leaving my head dizzy and sluggish

"No, I suppose you've had enough for one night," he said. "Sleep now. You're going to need it."

Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I let myself succumb to the medication's siren's song. I may or may not have heard Adrian whisper, "Sweet dreams, love," before planting a kiss on my inner thigh.