The Cabin Ch. 02

I awoke in a cocoon comprised of Egyptian cotton sheets, fleece blankets and a goose down comforter with half my face embedded against a beige, memory-foam pillow. Rolling onto my back, I stretched and squinted towards the window at the gray winter sky, suspended above a tall thicket of evergreens. The bedside clock read 12:00pm; much later than I'd thought. Sitting up, I rubbed the lingering sleep from my eyes and surveyed the bedroom. There were no bondage tools, no strange items of clothing, nothing amiss. The chef's knife was lying inconspicuously on the dresser beside the bathroom door, upon which my towel was casually draped. I pulled back the blankets and slid my legs over the edge of the bed, noting my nakedness but otherwise feeling relatively normal - save for a mild headache.

"What the hell did I take last night?" I muttered. My doctor really should've warned me about the sleep aid's potential side effects. While it wasn't out of the ordinary for me to have highly sexual dreams about Adrian, the previous night's had been particularly lucid - borderline traumatic. One thing I knew for certain was that I wouldn't be taking any more of those tablets.

The temperature of the master suite was surprisingly comfortable, considering I hadn't tended the woodstove in over twelve hours. I shuffled into the bathroom and rummaged amongst my toiletries for a bottle of aspirin. After taking care of some bodily functions, I donned my navy blue bathrobe and retrieved the chef's knife before stepping into the hallway. The paintings and photographs were hanging in their respective locations along the walls - not that I'd paid much attention to their placement to begin with.

Half-way down the stairs, I seized the bannister and froze mid-step.

Do I smell bacon?

Clutching the knife with tight, white knuckles, I crept the rest of the way down and slinked across the living room where I noticed a healthy fire crackling in the woodstove and the fresh pile of logs stacked beside it.

There was no mistaking the sizzling or the aroma of pork and caramelized onions. I felt the all-too-familiar shiver of terror tracing itself down my spine and swallowed hard, my back parallel to the wall beside the archway leading into the kitchen, listening to the sound of wood scraping against stainless steel and the creaking of the cabin's old floorboards.

Tiptoeing over to the sofas, I scanned the rug for my cell phone, but it was gone.

"Shit," I hissed. "Shit, fuck, shit!" I padded back to my spot beside the doorway.

Images from the previous night's dream flooded my mind as I tried to distinguish harmless fantasy from stark, horrifying reality. Was it possible that an intruder had broken into the cabin and assaulted me, but, because of the medication, I hallucinated that it was Adrian? My stomach lurched.

An idea came to me as I noticed my own, pained reflection in the metallic sheen of the chef's knife. Cautiously, I angled the blade in such a way that I might catch a mirror image of the kitchen in its polished steel.

"No. Not again. It can't be," I whispered, my jaw quivering. I must still be hallucinating.

Unwilling to accept what I'd just witnessed in the eight inches of obviously defective steel, I took a deep breath and peered around the edge of the doorframe.

It was Adrian; he was cooking brunch.

He stood at the stove wearing nothing but faded black jeans, tossing a pan of what looked like fried potatoes and onions - ingredients I'd brought with me for the week. I stood there, mouth agape, as I attempted to process the unfolding scene. Adrian caught me staring before I had time to retreat.

"You're awake," he said, his tone jovial. "I thought I was going to have to fetch you."

I couldn't move.

Adrian sighed. "Please don't tell me we have to go through this again. I'd hoped last night's endeavors would be enough to convince you of my physical manifestation." He switched off the burners. "Time to eat."

I remained frozen in the doorway, watching him distribute the bacon, home fries, and scrambled eggs onto two plates, which he then laid out onto the table he'd set, for two.

"Come," he said, his hand extended.

If I can get close enough, I thought, I can threaten him and make him explain what the hell is going on. I inched forward, the chef's knife gripped firmly in my hand.

With less than a yard between us, I thrust the blade out in front of me.

"Who the fuck are you?" I probed, trying and failing to sound assertive.

Adrian rolled his eyes and moved to circle me, his footsteps slow and calculated, like a predator's. His lips were pursed; his expression, unamused. I rotated, keeping the knife pointed in his direction. Before I could defend myself, he grabbed me by the wrist and snatched the blade from my hand, twisting my arm behind my back.

"Ah!" I shrieked, my breasts crushed against his chest. I tilted my head back as Adrian held the knife to my throat.

"You're being a very bad girl, Aubrey," he said. "I expected much more from you."

Adrian released me and set the knife down beside the sink. He moved with his signature swagger as he came to stand directly in front of me, once again invading my personal space.

"The next time you try something like that," he growled, "I'll introduce you to a different kind of knife play; one even you would blush to write about."

I nodded fervently.

He grasped one of my belt ends and tugged, dismantling the bow. Slipping the robe off of my shoulders, he let it fall to the floor. I wrapped my arms around my chest, trembling as Adrian ran four fingers down my abdomen.

He gestured toward the table. "Sit."

I slinked over to the nearest place setting, eager to place a bit of distance between us, and noticed that he'd neglected to provide silverware. The bacon was torn into bite-sized pieces and, lying beside the plate, was Luna's spare collar: deep purple with a heart-shaped nametag hanging from the silver ring.

"What's that doing here?" I asked.

"Sit," he commanded.

Adrian dragged the chair back and I immediately planted myself. He picked up the collar and wrapped it around my neck, adjusting the length and then fastening the plastic clasp behind me. It was tight, but not so tight that I couldn't breathe or swallow.

"Palms on the table."

I laid my hands on either side of my plate. Adrian sat down at the head of the table, perpendicular to me, and picked up a fork.

"Eat."

I eyed him, dubious, but I could tell that he was in no mood to repeat himself. Swallowing both my dignity and pride, I lowered my face to the plate and began eating, grateful to still have my hair secured in a loose bun. Grease and small bits of caramelized onion collected around my mouth as I worked my way through the, admittedly, delicious meal.

"I have to say, I thought you'd be more excited to see me."

I glanced up at him, grateful to see a playful smirk. "Sorry, it's not every day that I get assaulted in the bathroom by my imaginary friends."

He chuckled and swallowed a mouthful of home fries. "Are we friends?"

"I don't know what we are. I'm not even convinced that you're real"

Adrian cocked an eyebrow. "Was last night not real enough for you?"

"Maybe the sleep aid hasn't completely worn off yet. I could be dreaming all of this."

"Well," he said, "after today's proceedings, I have no doubt that you'll be thoroughly convinced of my authenticity."

"Is that some kind of threat?" I asked.

"Most definitely."

I took a few more bites of my meal. The way I saw it, he was either an insane, master hacker who'd read all of my stories and somehow altered his appearance to look exactly like my dream lover/protagonist, or - through some bizarre, supernatural mechanism I couldn't even begin to comprehend - he was telling the truth. The resemblance was too uncanny to be the former but the latter option made no sense whatsoever. I needed to test him.

"How do I know for sure that you're, well, you?" His unwavering eye contact made me uncomfortable but I was determined to learn the truth.

He snickered, leaning back in his chair. "Who else would I be, Aubrey?"

"You could be someone else - anyone else - masquerading as you."

"Highly unlikely," he said, loading his fork with eggs.

"Well, prove it. Tell me something only a figment of my imagination would know."

Adrian paused, thinking. "How about this," he said. "After several attempts to draw information out of her via the threat of bodily harm, I decided to try something more insidious: a lesson in delayed gratification - one of my specialties. I used my hunting knife to cut slits along the inseam of her jeans, exposing her-"

"Seriously?" I interrupted. "That's the best you can do? Anyone can memorize a few sentences. You could've read that off my laptop earlier this morning."

He narrowed his gaze. "Fine. What if I told you I'd like nothing better than to bind your arms behind your back, bend you over my knee, and give your ass a stern beating, like I did the first night we met?" Adrian regarded me with amusement, his knowing smile making a mockery of the evident discomfort on my face; I'd never written about that initial dream - ever.

"And I'd make sure to pay special attention to that tight little cunt of yours," he said. "You make the most exquisite sounds when I fuck you with my fingers. Is it the leather that excites you so?"

My breath caught in my throat at the realization that I could actually be sitting next to a flesh-and-blood version of my fictional lover. This man knew everything about me - all of my most depraved thoughts and desires. I mentally scanned through all of the filthy, raunchy deeds I'd made him commit in my fantasies, but as much as I wanted to let myself be unabashedly aroused, I was rather mortified.

"Shall I go on?" he asked.

I cleared my throat. "No, that's all right. I believe you. As crazy as that sounds."

"Good," he said, smiling. "Now, clean your plate. We have work to do."

"Work? What kind of work?"

"The kind you'll need plenty of energy for," he said. "Eat."

I finished what remained of my meal and then sat upright, embarrassed by the mess on my face. Adrian dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and then used it to clean the grease and food particles from mine. It felt oddly paternal.

"Collect our plates and rinse them in the sink. Then, return to your seat," he said.

I did as I was told. It occurred to me that I'd written scenes very similar to this in which Adrian collared and dominated a woman in a domestic setting. At the time, I'd thought it fun and highly stimulating; an alternative slant on the day-to-day. Sitting naked at the kitchen table beside him, wearing Luna's collar, I felt disconcerted and exposed. Still, I couldn't shake the innate sense of familiarity between us.

"Thank you for cooking," I said.

"You're most welcome, darling." His voice was smooth and affectionate.

I risked a slight smile and then flinched as he reached out and tweaked my nipple.

"We need to work on loosening you up."

Adrian regarded me with fondness but I knew better than to take his warmth at face value. If he knew me then I certainly knew him, and as wonderfully surreal as it was to sit across from his gorgeous aesthetic, I felt uneasy about being on the receiving end of his twisted appetites. Or, were they my twisted appetites? He stood up and pulled something from his front pocket: Luna's leash.

"On the floor," he said. "On all fours."

My inner muscles spasmed at the command. It was a line I'd often written for him, since I especially loved the idea of being taken from behind. I once asked Peter if we could have sex that way and, to my surprise, he was actually willing to try - probably due to the fact that he was slightly intoxicated. Unfortunately, he didn't particularly care for it while sober, which was 99% of the time.

I slid the chair back and kneeled onto the hardwood. Adrian crouched next to me and clipped the leash onto the collar's metal ring. He ran a hand down my back and over my buttocks, squeezing them.

"Crawl to the living room."

The grain of the floorboards felt cold and rough against my palms. Adrian lead me between the couches and up onto the coffee table, hands and knees firmly planted onto the dark mahogany. He unclipped the leash, coiled it, and tossed it under the table.

"Not only are we going to test your obedience," he said. "I'm also going to teach you a lesson in delayed gratification. This will help you learn to appreciate your capacity for pleasure."

Adrian circled the table and came to stand behind me. I almost turned to look at him but decided against it, as he hadn't yet given me permission to move. He placed both of his hands on my rump, squeezing and massaging for a few seconds before gliding them down the backs of my thighs, easing my knees further apart.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" he asked.

I paused. "I, uh - yes."

"Do you remember how many times you came?"

"Twelve," I whispered, blushing.

"Louder."

"Twelve." My voice cracked.

"Did you like having your cunt eaten?"

"Yes." I could sense his grin without even looking.

"Yes, what?" Adrian sauntered up to my left side and reached underneath me to caress my breast.

I trembled. "Yes, I liked - being eaten."

"Say the word," he said, pinching my nipple.

I flinched at the twinge of pain. A heaviness pooled in the pit of my stomach as I heard myself think and then say the words.

"Yes, I liked having my cunt eaten."

"Would you like me to do it again?" he asked.

More blood rushed to my cheeks. "Yes." I cried softly as he twisted my nipple and almost lost my balance when I felt his other hand stroke my pubic hair from behind.

"Tell me how it felt," he said, "the first time you came."

"It felt -" I paused, distracted. "It felt like I'd lost control of myself, but I didn't mind. You were a musician and I was an instrument being played."

Adrian chuckled. "Good metaphor." He parted my labia and tapped his finger against my clitoris. "Did your husband ever provoke such a response?"

Each tap sent a slight vibration ricocheting throughout my entire pelvis. I arched my back. "He, uh - no, never."

"When was the last time you felt like that?" he asked. I had a feeling that he already knew the answers to these questions but I responded anyway.

"The first night I dreamt of you, when I pleasured myself; I was so close, and then-" I could barely keep my hips from swaying at his cruel, feather-light touch.

"And then he admonished you; embarrassed you."

"Yes." I whimpered.

Adrian withdrew his hands, leaving me wanting and painfully aroused. He came to stand in front of me, my face level with his groin. I inhaled sharply at the sight of the generous bulge in his pants. He unpinned my messy bun and allowed my hair to cascade down around my face, running his fingers through it.

"How did you feel when he scolded you?" he asked.

"Humiliated; deprived," I said. "Frantic."

Adrian stepped behind me, drawing his hand from the top of my head, down my back, and then over my hip. Suddenly, I felt his entire palm cupping my sex, squeezing and massaging, slow at first, and then more rapidly, with greater force. I let out a long, low groan as he enveloped me, building the pressure in my cunt the way he had the night before.

Wait, I thought, did I just use the word "cunt" of my own volition?

I had neither the time nor the attention span to analyze my vocabulary as Adrian went from kneading my flesh to pushing himself against me, letting his erection take the place of his hand as he grasped my hips. The exquisite contrast of the coarse denim against my engorged sex made it all the more difficult for me to keep my balance. As my clitoris rubbed against him, my inner muscles ached to be filled and strained.

Adrian disengaged his groin from mine. However, he lingered just enough to draw an errant finger along my enflamed slit - enough to know that he was still there but without affording any relief. I bit my lips together and arched my spine even further, raising myself higher into the air.

"Tell me what you want," he said, placing his palm onto the small of my back.

"I want you to make me come," I whimpered.

"How?"

"With your- your-"

"With my cock?" he asked, slapping my rump.

"Yes, with your cock." The word felt leaden in my mouth.

Adrian chuckled. I was perplexed by his reaction; why was he laughing at me? He moved to stand before my face once more and I recognized the damp spot I'd left on the front of his jeans.

"I can say with absolute certainty that I'm not going to fuck you now. In fact, I'm not even going to let you come." He cradled my chin, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"Wha- what?" I panicked.

"For the next three hours, you are not allowed to orgasm. If you do, I will punish you for it. And, contrary to what you might be thinking, that is not something you want."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Three hours without climax while he toyed with my most sensitive bits?

Adrian left the room for a few moments and I tried my best to ignore the soft pangs in my lower body. When he returned, he was holding something in his hands, though I couldn't get a good enough look at it. There was the sound of torn cardboard and crumpled plastic and I shuddered when I realized what he'd left to retrieve.

"Keep your back arched and your eyes on the table in front of you," he said.

No, I thought. No, no, no, no. Please, don't use that. Not now.

The quiet buzzing of the vibrator rang in my ears and all I could think was that there was no way I was going to be able to stop myself from coming. Adrian ran the tip of the device over my slit, his other hand grasping my hip to keep me stable. I shuddered as it pulsated against my clitoris, trying to twist away from it.

"Not a good idea," he growled, engraving his fingernails into my malleable flesh.

I resigned myself to the impending torture. From what I could remember, the vibrator was a little over six inches long and featured only one speed but that was more than enough to have me reeling. Adrian dragged it back and forth across my lips before sliding it between them and holding it firmly against my clitoris.

"Fuck!" I whined.

Adrian purred, low and guttural.

My clitoris was still slightly sore from the previous night's antics but it didn't take long for me to sense that familiar build-up of pressure, the need for release. I stared down at the mahogany table, trying to focus on anything besides the vibrations. An orgasm was looming and I bit down hard on my bottom lip as I fought against it. I found that if I angled the tip of my clitoris directly upon it, the vibrations became almost too intense, borderline painful. This helped to stave off an orgasm for the moment but caused involuntary spasms in my thighs.

Mercifully, Adrian drew the vibrator away from my clitoris, concentrating its pulsations at the opening to my cunt.

There's that word again. My face blushed even hotter.

I savored a few seconds of respite before he plunged it inside me. I hadn't thought it possible that I could groan louder than I had the previous night, but I shocked myself - and, possibly, even Adrian - by filling the cabin with my whines and cries as he fucked me with the electronic, substitute cock. It wasn't particularly thick but what it lacked in girth it made up for in tremors that reverberated throughout my groin.