The Cabin Ch. 04

I chuckled. No shit.

"You may make use of your hands and mouth and you can accept oral and manual pleasure, but you will not fuck anyone, is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." Adrian raised the skirt portion of my apron and reached between my legs to grasp the vegetation. I winced as he tugged at the leaves, dislodging the carrot.

"You're not having any fun tonight, are you?"

I shook my head. He slid the carrot into his mouth, but instead of immediately thrusting it back inside me, he rubbed it against my clitoris. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his chest as he circled my nub with just enough pressure to leave me wanting.

Adrian bent to kiss my neck, grazing his teeth over my shoulder. I whimpered, my hands pawing at the rough fabric of his apron. He buffed my clitoris harder, faster. I opened my eyes and was greeted with the sight of a considerable bulge in the fabric of his apron.

I licked my lips. "May I touch it?"

"Yes."

I reached beneath the hem and grasped his cock. He hummed, his chest vibrating as he bit into the flesh of my shoulder. Pre-cum oozed from the tip and I smoothed it over his bulbous head. I wanted it inside me, stretching me. Adrian drew the carrot down from my clitoris to the entrance to my cunt, now slick with my juices. He thrust the carrot in and out as I stroked him. My legs trembled and my knees threatened to give out, but I persisted, sliding both of my hands up and down his length. I imagined that the carrot was the same length and thickness of his cock, my muscles convulsing as he fucked me with the tuber.

"Feeling better?" he whispered, his voice breathy.

"Yes—ah!" I struggled to remain standing as Adrian pressed his thumb against my clitoris, massaging it alongside the pummeling and building the familiar pressure within my groin.

Knock, knock, knock.

"I'm glad to hear it." Adrian shoved the carrot inside me up to the hilt and held it there.

I moaned. "That I'm feeling better or the knocking?"

"Both."

Adrian kissed me, slipping his tongue into my mouth. I whined as he guided his cock out of my hand and draped the apron back over himself. Even concealed beneath the heavy red fabric, it was an obvious protrusion. I wondered if anyone would care.

"Better not keep her waiting," he said.

"Her?"

Adrian squeezed my buttock, sending jolts of pain down my left leg.

I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and strode through the living room. Sonya was seated on Gareth's lap, her eyes following me. I marched through the dining room, past the tall china cabinet and paintings ranging from snow swept mountains to chubby-faced chipmunks. Adjusting my apron, I inhaled deeply and opened the door to the back porch.

A tall brunette with pale skin and wide, almond shaped eyes gazed down at me.

"You must be Aubrey," she said, her voice deep and sensual, yet curt. She wore a red, strapless cocktail dress beneath a black cloak.

Icy wind accosted my exposed flesh as I evaluated her: the woman from last night's story, Adrian's tormented captive who'd escaped into the snow-ridden forest. I took a step back as she crossed the threshold, towering over me in heels. She was beautiful, dark hair feathering about her oblate face with a pronounced cupid's bow tinted the same bright scarlet as her dress. I felt self-conscious beside her barefooted and disheveled in the dreadful apron, my breasts bulging out the sides.

"May I take your cloak?" I asked, my voice cracking.

She slipped the cape from her shoulders.

Adrian appeared in the doorway. "Recognize her?"

"Yes," I mumbled.

"Good to see you, Adrian," she said, through clenched teeth.

"Likewise—" He paused. "What is your name?"

"I don't have one." She glared at me.

Adrian raised an eyebrow.

I shrugged. "I haven't gotten that far."

"For God's sake, Aubrey, give the poor girl a name."

"Fine." I assessed her. "Veronica?"

She cocked her head, squinting. "It'll do."

Veronica draped her cloak over my shoulder and followed Adrian out of the room. My thoughts reeled as I trailed behind them: Why do I get the distinct impression that she doesn't like me? Should I be offended? Hurt? I hung her cape in the closet and tiptoed into the kitchen where Gareth and Sonya had migrated, laughing and chatting as Adrian poured Veronica a glass of wine.

Adrian glanced at me. "The salad isn't going to make itself, love."

I nodded, taking my place at the island.

Veronica sidled up to Adrian, resting a hand on his shoulder. "So, this is where you've been holing yourself up while I've been out in the woods, freezing to death."

Adrian grinned. "I was beckoned by a force more powerful than either of us. I apologize for keeping you waiting."

I began slicing the cucumbers into bite-sized chunks, trying to ignore the twinge of jealousy stemming from Adrian's familiarity with both Sonya and Veronica. He'd told me to embrace my possessiveness, my resentment towards these women who were confident and sexually assertive because, like him, they were really just aspects of my own personality. However, watching Veronica hover around Adrian's workstation only exacerbated my bitterness. I glared down at my cutting board and stewed.

Gareth rounded the island, his weight causing the hardwood creak beneath him as he came to stand behind me. "Went a bit medieval on her ass, don't you think, Adrian?"

Adrian scoffed. "Hardly. She took it well."

I jumped as I felt Gareth's palm graze my left buttock, almost dropping my knife. Gareth stood close enough for me to smell his cologne, to feel his breath on my shoulder. The muscles of my cunt clenched around the carrot, excited by his proximity. Adrian had cautioned me to be wary of Gareth's advances, though the part of me that hated seeing my Dom fawn over Sonya and Veronica relished the other man's attention. Gareth touched my bruises gingerly, slipping a hand between my legs to fondle the carrot greens. I gasped.

"This isn't a game, Aubrey," Adrian growled.

"Why is it that only you can hear her thoughts?" Gareth slipped both hands beneath the apron's skirt to stroke the front of my thighs. He'd removed his jacket and I could feel the heat radiating off of him through his dress shirt, along with the substantial bulge at the front of his pants.

"She and I are connected."

"Aren't we all?"

"Yes, but I suppose I make up a much more, shall I say, powerful portion of her psyche." He scowled.

"Perhaps." Gareth grazed his fingers across my welts.

I flinched as his nails scraped the raised marks.

"What the hell?" Gareth grasped my shoulders and turned me to face him. He lifted my apron, his eyes widening at the assemblage of red stripes. "Oh my God." His gaze leapt from my thighs to Adrian, then back again.

"Gareth, don't—"

"What have you been doing to her over the last twenty-four hours?"

"Giving her what she needs."

"What she needs? Are you insane?"

"Gareth," I whispered. "It's fine, really."

"How can you say that?"

"It's consensual. I wanted—"

"It's one thing to ask to be tied up and fucked or ordered around the house like a pet, but this," he gestured to my welts, his face contorted into a look of revulsion. "This is going too far."

Adrian slammed his knife onto the cutting board, the clang echoing against the ceiling and cupboards. "You don't get to make that distinction, Gareth." His heels thundered against the hardwood as he came to stand beside me.

"And you do? Who the hell gave you the right?"

Adrian pointed at me. "She did."

"You guys, please." My temples throbbed. I cradled my face in my hands, feeling suffocated by their hostility.

"I'm teaching Aubrey to assert herself, to ask for what she wants," said Adrian, his face inches away from Gareth's. "You can't give her what she wants."

"She doesn't know what she wants."

"She's always known. She's finally coming to terms with it and I'll be damned if I let you get in the way of her progress."

"You call this progress?"

My breathing was shallow. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to either side of my skull. "Adrian—"

"Yes, I do. It's what gets her off," said Adrian. "Your inability to stomach it—."

"I think you mean my refusal to abide it."

"Which stems from your fear of brutality and anything else that might lead her toward the life she deserves."

"And you think this is what she deserves?"

"She deserves to be fulfilled, to have to the confidence to seek the sort of sex that excites her."

"And what of her safety? Her dignity?"

"She's standing, isn't she? Enduring that beating was probably the most dignified thing she's done in years."

"It's degrading, Adrian."

"She's embracing her predilections, Gareth. And your pets may wear jewel-encrusted collars but at the end of the day, it's still degradation that gets your dick hard." Adrian clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists.

"I won't allow it."

"Well, she's not exactly asking your permission, now, is she? I'm her Dominant. She answers to me."

Gareth sneered. "And is that the mark of a superior Dominant, then? The number of welts you can fit on her thighs?"

"Oh, it's not for me to set the standard. But I would argue that you can certainly gauge an inferior one by the number of subs who've fled the—"

"Don't drag her into this." Gareth's nostrils flared.

"Why not? It's the perfect allegory: your inadequacy as a Dom pushed Sonya into my dungeon."

"Enough!" I shouted, heaving them aside. "I need a moment."

I stomped into the living room. My stomach lurched from hunger and my temples pounded, though I could sense the pressure beginning to subside as I stood there, leaning against the back of one of the couches for support. I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of what I'd just witnessed. If each of these people represented a different aspect of my personality, then it was obvious that Gareth served as the staunch guardian of my inhibitions, the parts of myself that longed to maintain the status quo of silent yearning.

Shouts and exclamations rang out from the kitchen.

"What exactly do you think you're doing, Adrian?"

"I'm setting her free. I'm setting all of us free."

"You don't speak for all of us!"

"I speak for her."

Footsteps plodded from behind. I turned to find Veronica, right hand on her hip, sipping her glass of wine. Sonya followed, gazing up at me from beneath sparse, blonde brows.

"Well, that was entertaining," said Veronica.

"Was it?" I rubbed my forehead.

"Gareth is livid."

"Gareth isn't my Master."

"And Adrian is?"

"He's my Dominant."

"Is there a difference?"

I shrugged and rounded the sofa, plopping down onto the cushion. Sonya dropped to the floor beside me and rested her head against my thigh. Too lightheaded to ponder my previous resentment, I let her stay. Veronica took a seat on the opposite couch, resting her heels on the coffee table between us. I recalled the activities that had taken place upon it that afternoon and felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

"I think it's safe to say that I'm having a nervous breakdown," I said.

Veronica chuckled. "You think?"

"There's a carrot in my cunt and various aspects of my subconscious are bickering in the kitchen. Nah, I'm just peachy."

Adrian's voice eclipsed my own, resounding throughout the post-and-beam structure.

"Something has to change. Aubrey cannot live her life like this, it's too restrictive."

"She was doing just fine before you showed up here and—"

"Fine? She was miserable!"

"She was safe!"

"She wasn't living!"

"And you think beating her and withholding a few orgasms is going to change her life? Turn her into a different person?"

"No. I'm trying to empower her, to help her embrace the parts of herself that you've rejected."

"You're trying to shut me out!"

I groaned, letting my head fall back onto the cushion. "Is this what it feels like to have dissociative personality disorder?"

"I'm pretty sure most people with that condition are able to keep their personalities inside their heads." Veronica smirked.

Sonya touched my calf and gazed up at me. "For what it's worth," she said, her voice soft, yet assured. "I think you're handling all of this really well. It's an incredible feeling to finally be having the kind of sex you've always craved, but it can bring up a lot of shame and emotional instability you didn't know was there."

"Thanks. I guess I always knew it was there. I just didn't expect it to manifest into, you know, people." I smiled, stroking her hair.

"I wouldn't worry too much," said Veronica. "Most brilliant writers are at least mildly insane."

I chuckled.

"Now, if only you could translate that brilliance into your writing."

I gaped at her. "Ouch."

Knock, knock, knock.

I bristled. Adrian and Gareth continued their shouting match, oblivious to whoever was waiting outside. I rose to my feet and plodded into the dining room, resigned to my role as doorwoman. Sighing, I turned the knob.

"Isabel," I said.

Her dark brown hair was tied back into a severe bun. She wore a sleek pantsuit, the pinstripe jacket and trousers showing off her curves. I marveled at her flawless, toffee-colored skin.

Isabel grinned at me from her superior height, burgundy lips parting to display straight, pearlescent teeth. "Aubrey."

I almost didn't notice the brown riding crop in her hand or the young man standing behind her, pale and angular, wearing nothing more than a black leather collar. I stepped aside, allowing Isabel and her attractive companion to enter the dining room. "Who is this?"

"You don't recognize Ari?"

"The name sounds familiar."

"He's one of my newest recruits. Very green." She turned to him. "Say hello to Aubrey."

Ari dropped onto all fours and kissed the tops of my feet, his dark, lustrous hair sweeping across my toes. "Hello, Aubrey." His voice was deep and gravelly, yet meek.

Isabel was another of Adrian's clients, though I hadn't written about her in quite some time. The headmistress of an exclusive BDSM academy, she occasionally hired him for recruitment purposes or to recover submissives who had been loaned out to abusive Doms. On rare instances, she might enlist his help in breaking-in or testing out new subs before assignment.

I'd mentioned Ari very briefly in one story: a beautiful, yet insecure young man who'd pleaded to be accepted into the academy. His physical appearance consisted of stark contrasts: a gaunt, androgynous face with lustrous hair, upheld by a slim, yet obviously masculine physique. I hadn't given much thought to him after that piece, but apparently my subconscious found him noteworthy enough to extend an invitation to my sexual awakening.

I closed the door behind them, admiring Ari's backside. Damn, I thought, I've definitely underutilized this one. He followed Isabel into the living room, head bowed, bare feet thudding against the hardwood behind the click-clack of her heels. She nodded at Sonya, a former recruit, on her way into the kitchen.

Gareth and Adrian were situated on opposite sides of the island, their palms pressed against the marble countertop as they stared one another down.

"She's going to disappoint you, Adrian. She always has."

"Things are different now. He's—"

"The fact that he's gone changes nothing."

"It changes everything!"

"Boys!" Isabel's voice rang out above the fray.

Both men turned to look at her. The puttanesca sauce spluttered on the stovetop as the water for the pasta roiled and threatened to heave over the rim of the pot. Adrian lowered the heat before clearing his throat and coming to greet the new guests.

"Isabel, so glad you could make it," he shook her hand using both of his. "I see you've brought a submissive."

"I thought he could use a test run." She smiled at Gareth. "Is Sonya with you tonight?"

Gareth straightened his tie and took her hand. "Yes, she was eager to come."

"I wasn't aware that she'd returned to your custody." Isabel's kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed.

I caught a slight twitch at the corner of Gareth's mouth. "She hasn't. This is a special occasion."

"Hmm."

Veronica and Sonya sauntered into the kitchen behind us and I moved to join Adrian near the stove. The room felt smaller, warmed by the steam wafting off of the simmering food. I surveyed the cast of characters before me with a lingering lightheadedness. Adrian laid a hand upon my shoulder, massaging the muscles in my neck with his thumb. I sighed, letting my eyelids droop, as he drew his other palm down my spine to my buttocks.

"Well," said Isabel. "I think we could all use a little before-dinner-diversion to lighten the mood." She unbuttoned her fitted jacket to reveal a black lace bustier, which showcased her smooth, tan skin and full breasts. Reaching into a hidden pocket, she pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs.

I inhaled sharply at the sight. Adrian pulled me against him as he slid his knuckles over the exposed skin of my right breast, reaching inside the apron.

"Ari, stand before the island with your hands clasped behind you," she said.

"Yes, Mistress." He did as commanded.

Isabel secured his wrists. I felt my cunt tighten around the carrot as I gawked at his physique, my nipple puckering beneath Adrian's fingers. Ari's hair was dark, like Adrian's, but thicker and slightly longer, cascading down over his shoulder blades. Isabel combed her fingers through it, raking her nails across his muscular back. She stepped beside him to survey the assortment of produce still piled next to the cutting board, selecting a carrot that was thicker and squattier than the one inside me.

"No," I whispered. "Is she?"

"Shh." Adrian's lips grazed my earlobe.

I bit my tongue as Adrian slipped his other hand into my apron, squeezing and massaging both breasts. I suddenly felt self-conscious of my blatant arousal, but the eyes of the crowd were firmly fixed on Ari.

Isabel held the carrot in front of Ari's face. "This is going into your ass. Moisten accordingly."

He parted his lips, taking the carrot into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it as Isabel held tightly to the long strands of vegetation still attached at the top. A clear thread of saliva dripped from Ari's bottom lip as she withdrew it, taking a few steps back.

"Bend slightly."

Ari complied. Isabel spread his cheeks apart and inserted the carrot. He whimpered, his hands balling into fists at the small of his back. My eyes widened. Anal play had never really fallen within my realm of personal taste but Adrian's fingers upon my nipples combined with the presence of my own internal plug had my muscles clenching and my clitoris throbbing.

The greens protruded from Ari's backside, dangling between his legs like a tail.

"Such a pretty tail. Like a pony's tail. Who's my pretty little pony?" Isabel gripped the riding crop in her right hand.

"I am, Mistress," he said, his face hovering over the countertop.

Isabel gave his ass a few light pats in a semi-circle around the vegetation before coming down hard. Ari cried out, his breathing heavy.

"Count for me," she commanded.

"One."

She struck him again.

"Two."

Isabel nudged his legs further apart with the crop. She reached the tip of it between his thighs to jostle his balls. Ari whimpered. She drew the crop back with a flick of her wrist, bringing it down on his inner thigh.

"Three!" He gasped.

She hit his other thigh.

"Four!"

Isabel struck him five more times, thrice on his cheeks and twice more on his inner thighs, dangerously close to his scrotum, leaving small red splotches on Ari's legs and backside. She glided a hand over his tender skin, stroking the vegetation as though it were a part of him.