Cabin Fever

by Roe Horvat

  He was frustrated with me. Shit. It seemed like I wasn’t getting any tonight. My nerves quivered again, my anxiety looming close. Double shit.

  “My people report to me every day about everything and anything that happens in the area,” Vincent said. “It takes quite a lot of effort, but it means I can let you out to breathe sometimes. If you do this again, I’ll fucking lock you in the panic room for the rest of the week, I swear.”

  “I’m really sorry, Vincent. I won’t do it again.”

  He shook his head and took a deep breath, bracing his hands on his hips.

  “You are the client from hell, you know that?” His words were hard, but his voice sounded gentle.

  Yeah, I wouldn’t want to babysit myself either. “I can double your pay.”

  He chuckled at that. “No money can compensate for what you’re doing to me, Mikey.”

  I drew in a breath. I was lousy at expressing emotion. Seriously, complete shit at that part. I mean, in sex, I could tell anything and everything, but actual feelings? This man worked tirelessly to keep my stupid head intact, and I’d only made it more difficult for him from the start, because I was a sex-crazed, twisted, nervous wreck. I had no words to explain to him how grateful and how sorry I was.

  So, I stripped naked in the middle of the room and knelt on the floor, while Vincent stared, mouth parted, eyes burning. I bent my head in complete submission, arms hanging limply by my sides, and spoke quietly.

  “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I promise I won’t break the rules again. Please, forgive me.”

  I closed my eyes and waited.

  It took forever. His breathing became shallow. His footsteps thudded toward me, but he said nothing, didn’t touch me. The room grew eerily quiet, and the silence did things to me. I felt disconnected, changed, like everything that had happened before I came to this place had been just a dream. Now, here was Vincent. He was the only real element in my world. Nothing besides him and nothing before him mattered. Hearing him breathe was my only connection to reality. After a long while, he spoke.

  “Do you really want me to punish you, Mikey?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “Please.” Please, hurt me. I’ve been a bad boy. Please, hurt me…

  A deep breath and then…

  “I will punish you, boy. Really punish you. You’ll take it and be grateful.” I was rock hard for him. Oh, just the timbre of his voice made precum pearl on my cock.

  “Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered.

  “On your hands and knees and wait, quiet.”

  I did as I was told. I leaned forward on my hands.

  “Spread your legs.”

  I did. I was getting cold, and a shiver ran through me.

  “Eyes closed.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  Boots stomped away from me. A door creaked. Vincent must have gone to his room. I waited, seemingly forever, but finally, he returned. He stood behind me, and I began shaking. I didn’t know what was coming or when, and that was simultaneously terrifying and arousing.

  Then… a shock of pain across my skin, harsh and stinging, and I cried out. It was not pleasant. So far away from the satisfying feeling of his warm palm smacking my ass. This was… I didn’t know what it was, but fuck. Fuck! It came again, across my thighs and ass cheeks, chafing and burning my skin. A rope. He was beating me up with a sling of rope. I dug my nails into the carpet to keep me from collapsing onto my belly, and I pushed my ass out for more. I was going to ride this out with pride, dammit.

  Another hit.

  Fucking hell. My ass was on fire.

  I gritted my teeth and began counting in my head.

  Four. Five. Six. Seven.

  Then it changed. The end of the rope landed in my crease, hitting my hole, and I wailed.

  Jesus.

  One more. A sting directly on my pucker, shooting up into me. But my hole was empty. The burn had no outlet, nothing to anchor me. Just biting pain and no pleasure.

  It was sick.

  On the tenth hit, into my crease again, I screamed from the torture. However, my body decided it was actually not that bad. My hole throbbed, and heat bloomed in my balls.

  Vincent was pushing my limits, and I was beginning to like it.

  The last five went into my crease with perfect precision, but they were milder—still agonizing as fuck—but also tantalizing. By the time the rope hit the floor, my asshole was fluttering with pleasure, my muscles confused. I needed him to do something. Either beat me more, so the pain eclipsed the arousal, or shove something inside me. Anything. The emptiness and the stinging pain all over my ass were killing me.

  Was he going to fuck me now? Oh god, please. Let him fuck me.

  “Please, Daddy!” I wailed, trembling with need.

  “Quiet!” Vincent spat.

  He grabbed my hair, and he dragged me up a little, but I was still on my knees, my arms limp by my sides. Then the sound of a zipper.

  “Look how hard you are, how wet and red,” he murmured. “You liked the pain, boy?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” I whispered.

  “That’s no punishment, then, is it?”

  I couldn’t answer. My sex-dazed mind didn’t grasp the implication in his words. I only focused on keeping my eyes closed, because he had told me to.

  His thumb parted my lips and pushed into my mouth, opening my jaw, and I caught his scent before I felt his cockhead touch my lips. His thumb slid out, and his cock glided in. He held my head with both hands and fucked my mouth, hitting the back of my throat.

  The ache on my ass cheeks, the echo of stinging pain still ricocheting through me, and Vincent’s big fat cock choking me… it all mingled and merged into lust, so acute I was vibrating with it. My erection kept twitching between my legs, probably oozing precum onto the floor, and my asshole relaxed in anticipation, until I was so open and ready for him, I’d come as soon as he breached me.

  Cum flooded my mouth. The taste of him, oh fuck… I licked and sucked and swallowed, licked some more, and Vincent was humming with pleasure.

  “You know your place, boy. My little cocksucker. Eat my cum. Eat it all.”

  I swallowed again and sucked on his slit, trying to catch the last drop.

  And then he was gone.

  I was still kneeling there, my hands clutching at empty air, my body shuddering, the taste of him making me insane with need. Yet he didn’t touch me anymore.

  “Daddy…” I whined, a painful, deprived cry for help.

  “Stand up and go to my room. Lie on the bed, hands on the headboard. Don’t touch yourself.”

  I stood on wobbly legs and limped to his bedroom. I lay on my side so my burning skin wouldn’t touch the sheets, grabbed the headboard, and closed my eyes. The room smelled of him. My dick was throbbing, my balls so tight they hurt. Now this was a kind of pain I hated. I kept breathing through it, but it only got worse and worse. Desperate, I clenched my hole, and my cock jerked. A whimper escaped my mouth.

  After a minute, Vincent came into the bedroom. Only in his underwear, he lay down by my side, pressing his body against me, the coarse hair on his chest and legs tickling my skin. He clicked off the lamp, then took my hands, prying them from the headboard. Spooning me, he threw one leg over mine and held my wrists in his huge hand. He pinned me to the bed, unmoving.

  “Daddy?”

  He wasn’t going to do anything. Vincent was really punishing me.

  “You’re going to sleep here tonight, boy. I’ll make sure you won’t touch yourself and you won’t break the rules again. Now be quiet.”

  He wasn’t going to let me come.

  Oh fuck.

  A powerful jolt of arousal shook my core, and I whined helplessly. Vincent stayed immobile.

  I was leaking so much precum my thighs were wet. The emptiness in my hole became a torment, crueler than anything Vincent could have done to me with the rope.

  I was so screwed.

  At some point, I must’ve fallen asleep. I dreamed
crazy, disturbing dreams, where Vincent had tied me between the trees in the forest. I hung there like a fly in a spider’s web, and he whipped me with a long black horsewhip. Then he entered me. He seemed even bigger than in real life, impossibly huge and long, reaching so deep into my body I felt as if he was killing me. I liked it and begged him for more…

  My hole open and slick, I sighed with bliss at the pressure inside me. Oh god, finally. I welcomed the intrusion, moving my hips without conscious permission, trying to impale myself more.

  “You were begging for my cock in your sleep, sweet boy,” Vincent said into my ear.

  What? Ah… oh please…

  I wasn’t dreaming at all. Vincent was here and had two lubed fingers in my hole. I moaned with gratitude. His other hand found my nipple and tugged on the barbell.

  “You need it bad, huh? My hungry fuckhole. So sweet and tight.”

  Yes.

  He fingered and stretched my hole, massaging my insides. It was heaven.

  His fingers disappeared, and I convulsed in his arms, crying out with desperation.

  “Shh, my boy. I’ll give you my cock. All of it. Patience.”

  And then he was back, blunt pressure, and then ecstasy… He slid home. I was so ready for him my body took him all the way, molding around him, my nerve endings buzzing with utter joy.

  He spooned me, clutching my body to him, and moved, filling my hole over and over with sure, insistent thrusts. Nirvana.

  “You dreamed about a big fat cock, boy?”

  “Yes, Daddy!” I forced out on a moan.

  His whole length was inside me, pushing relentlessly, pumping deep in me, the fullness bringing such relief to my system… I was completely at his mercy. Waves of bliss swept over me, over and over, and I didn’t know when my orgasm began. The whole act felt like one, endless and glorious.

  “My needy fuckhole,” Vincent growled in my ear. “You feel so good clenching around me.”

  Heat enveloped my balls and shot up my dick. My hole squeezed around Vincent’s cock, and it didn’t stop… more and more and more, a constant stream of pleasure as he pumped into my body. I lost my grip on reality. Maybe I was still asleep after all.

  Vincent grabbed my hips and dragged my shaking body up, so I was on my knees, shoulders on the bed, arms clutching the pillow. Then he went to town, pounding my ass relentlessly with sharp thrusts. My mouth gaped open, and alien, animalistic sounds tore out of my throat.

  My orgasm crested, then subsided, leaving me relaxed and open for him, ready to be used for hours if he pleased. However, Vincent was close. He pushed into me to the hilt and pulsed, coating my insides with his cum.

  We collapsed onto the bed. I lay in my own wet spot, but I didn’t care. Vincent’s seed was trickling out of me. He curled behind me and played with my rim, sliding his fingertip through the wetness and pushing it back into my softened hole.

  “Thank you so much, Daddy,” I whispered.

  Vincent shoved his finger into me roughly and tapped my overstimulated gland, making me whimper.

  “Thank you, thank you.”

  He left his finger there, tucked in my hole, and I fell asleep again, sated and happy.

  10

  His fear

  Vincent

  He wasn’t supposed to sleep in my bed. Yet here he was, full of my cum once again, tucked to my side, and I fingered his relaxed hole while he slept. I could use him in his sleep if I wanted, only to proclaim my ownership of him.

  He’d given me his body. It was mine to do whatever I pleased. If I wanted to sleep with my cock in his ass for the whole night, he’d let me and thank me for it. His trust in me filled me with both awe and terror, but my desire for him eclipsed any other emotion.

  I wiped my fingers on his thigh, threw my arm around him, and cupped his groin. His soft dick in my palm, I brushed my lips over the short hair on his nape.

  “Vincent…” he murmured in his sleep.

  My boy dreamed of me.

  I woke up by the sun streaming through the window, sweating in the stuffy heat. I forced my eyes open. Michael was already up. Irritated, I got dressed quickly. It felt wrong to let him roam while I was asleep. What if he went outside again?

  I found him in the kitchen, making breakfast. We were out of eggs, so he was heating up some frozen waffles in the toaster.

  When I entered, he smiled an honest, happy smile, and it pierced my heart like a dagger.

  “Morning. You finally slept.”

  “I do sleep.”

  “Yeah, like four hours a day.”

  I shrugged.

  “The coffee’s fresh.”

  He’d prepared everything. He’d even set the table, which made me smile despite my apprehensiveness. I hugged him from behind, and he leaned into my embrace, sighing deeply.

  “You’re being a good boy again?”

  “I guess, since I fucked up last night, it’s the least I can do.”

  I chuckled.

  We had coffee and waffles, and after I checked the surveillance report, I took mercy on him and took him out for a long hike. He was almost hyper, so excited to venture farther away from the cabin than just the jogging trail around the lake.

  The weather was mild, the breeze soft, and he even took off his fleece jacket, walking up the trail in only his T-shirt. The day was humid, and I expected we’d get a storm tonight.

  After barely a couple of hours, we paused by a vista where the trees opened around a small group of rocks, giving us glimpses of the lake below us. Sitting on a boulder, we ate the protein bars I’d brought with us and drank some water.

  “We should head back,” I said.

  “I know. It’s been nice. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “I need to pee.” He stood up and brushed the dirt off his ass. “Be right back.”

  “Don’t go far.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Brat. I don’t spank you nearly as hard and as often as you deserve.”

  “Do it tonight. Make me scream,” he threw over his shoulder.

  I laughed. He paused just some thirty feet away, by a cluster of pine trees. I gave him some privacy, checking the weather on my phone. A storm was indeed gathering. We should hurry back, or we’d get wet.

  “Vincent!” Michael yelped. His tone pierced my thoughts. It wasn’t a loud scream, but his low voice was full of utter terror.

  I was by him in ten quick strides, my hand on my gun.

  He was shaking, his face pale like death, staring into the deep forest in front of him.

  “What, Mikey?”

  He shook his head.

  “Michael?”

  He swallowed and wilted, the tension in his shoulders releasing.

  “I… I thought I saw someone. I’m sorry.” He gritted his teeth. “Fuck. It was nothing. Just a tree branch. I’m sorry.”

  Taking a shuddering breath, he tried to zip up his fly, but his hands were trembling so much he couldn’t.

  “Mikey, it’s okay. Here, let me help.” I zipped up his pants and then his fleece jacket. He was shaking, his teeth chattering.

  “Fuck, I’m such a mess. I’m so sorry,” he forced out.

  I hugged him close, his body so small and fragile all of a sudden, wrapped in an oversized fleece jacket.

  “Shh, baby. You’re okay. You’re so brave. Others would’ve broken down during the first week of what you’ve been through. You are so fucking brave, Michael.”

  “Vincent, I…” He choked.

  “It’s okay, my sweet boy. I’m here.”

  “Vincent.” He slumped into my embrace.

  I stroked his back up and down, holding him tightly, just listening to his calming breaths until the first raindrops fell.

  “Mikey, it’s raining. Come on, let’s go home.”

  Home. What a ridiculous concept, but Michael nodded and moved. I followed two steps behind him, as close as I could without actually stepping on his hee
ls.

  Just before we reached the cabin, the storm broke, dousing us in cold rain. As soon as we were inside, I started the fire in the fireplace and peeled off my wet trousers. My jacket was waterproof, but my boots had taken a hard hit. I put them close to the fire, hoping they’d be dry in a day. Then I made tea. Michael was drenched, his T-shirt, jacket, and jeans no match for the downpour, and he went to his bedroom to change.

  Dressed in sweats and a clean T-shirt, Michael emerged and wordlessly began preparing dinner. His coping mechanism number one—keeping his hands busy. He was tense, but when our eyes met, he tried to smile at me. He picked up a broad knife and an onion, his fingers still trembling.

  “Let me help.” I took the knife from him. I wasn’t keen on unpacking the emergency sewing kit I had with me.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Sighing, he heated the pan and pulled out a bag of frozen vegetables.

  I finished chopping the onion and opened him a beer.

  “There are only two left. I was saving it.”

  “Have a beer, Mikey.”

  He nodded and took a deep gulp.

  We ate almost in silence. Michael put on some music I didn’t recognize—something in what I thought was Greek, maybe. It was unpredictable, the rhythm and voices all over the place, but surprisingly calming in the way it drew you in. He managed to eat a normal portion, but it took him a long time.

  After dinner came the question that had warmth spreading in my gut.

  “Daddy, will you please fuck me tonight?”

  There it was, his coping mechanism number two. Pretending I didn’t crave him more than he craved me, I frowned, playing our game. “You’re greedy, boy. I fucked you last night.”

  “I’m sorry. I…” He swallowed and looked down at his lap.

  “Tell me why you need it.”

  “I love your cock. I want you all the time.” Then he lifted his gaze to mine, gutting me with his next words. “And it helps me sleep, knowing you’ve been inside me. I feel safe.”

  I sighed. I wanted him too. Of course, I did. All the fucking time. I knew why he needed me now. He’d been terrified, so he asked for the only comfort he was sure he could get. Maybe one day, he’d learn he could ask to be held, and it would be enough to soothe him. Perhaps then he could have sex just for fun. But by that time, we’d be far away from this place. Far away from each other.