Snowdrifts were on either side of the road, pushed aside by carts or horses. Overhead, a breeze brushed the snow from the pines and sent them drifting downward. Lucile brushed the snow from her hair, and her other hand tightened on the reigns of her horse as she looks around the woodland. It was growing dark, and up ahead was the familiar traveler’s cabin she would use on every excursion like this. It was another half day’s ride to the next village, and she neither wanted to ride through the night or regret having left later in the day from her own.
The cabin itself was snow-covered as well. There were no prints to mar the snow about it, either of man or beast. Travel was little in these days, dangerous as the roads were. It was a small place, though large enough to fit a bed, kitchenette, and a fireplace. She brought her horse to a stop outside of it, and took the time to take off its saddle, lay a blanket over its back, and tie the reigns to the hitching post outside the cabin.
Opening the door and glancing inside, she saw that the fireplace was dark and the whole cabin unlit. She stepped inside and began to feed the fireplace first kindling, and then wood from the logs beside the fireplace. It was slow and tedious work, and she had to keep the door open to have light to see by, waning as it was. In the end though, the fireplace now had fire, and she rose as snow began to fall outside, and the sun was a red smear on the horizon barely visible through the clouds.
Her intention had been to bring the saddle inside instead of let it be snowed upon for the rest of the evening. Yet not a moment after stepping outside the threshold into the snow did she see a figure there, in the treeline. She couldn’t quite make out their face in the waning light and the increasing snow, yet she saw them and she froze. For a moment her heart was in her throat, and then it began to pound in her chest once more when the figure began to approach.
She moved quickly to her horse, cold fingers fumbling in an effort to untie the knot she had tied into the hitching post, but her mind was wild with sudden fear. There shouldn’t have been anyone out here. It was some roadside bandit. He’s going to kill me for my money and my horse, she thought. She abandoned the effort to untie the horse, and began to just run ahead blindly toward the path through the snow. Her last thought before the impact was that maybe he’ll take her saddlebags and her horse, but leave her be.
Her hands flew up to protect herself from the fall when he tackled her into the snow. She fell forward into it, with the man on her back. The snow lessened the fall enough it did not knock the wind out of her, but the shock made her cry out. She struggled and squirmed, reaching for the knife at her belt but she felt strong, gloved hands take first that hand then her other. The man held them together at her back, and she struggled against him for a few moments longer, trying in vain to free herself from underneath him.
Then she heard his voice, and knew who it was. “Lucile, Lucile… it is only me.”
When she recognized the voice, she redoubled her efforts. Her fear waned slightly, only to be replaced by anger. The man had come into her life a stranger before, and she knew the name of her stalker from their past encounter. Faustin, who she hated, hated, hated worse than anyone else she knew.
“Fuck you!” She cried, though made breathless by trying to free herself to no avail.
She heard him laugh. Then she felt her hands be bound behind her back with some fabric. Not a rope, he always said she was too dignified for rope. It made her feel no more dignified that he used silk instead. After her hands were bound, she tried to pull against the scarf but he had tied the knots true, and she wouldn’t be able to escape from them without a knife or by another’s hand. She had no trust in his hands.
She felt him begin to rise off of her, and she tried to squirm away with her legs, only to feel his strong hands on her again. He laughed at her, and she felt for a moment inclined to scream. Not even at him, but just to scream. To scream and be done with it all. To scream her frustrations into the night. One hand grasped her shoulder, and she felt the other hold her hip, and then she was rolled over onto her back in the snow. At least, she thought, I’m laid on my cloak over the snow now.
He brushed his gloved thumb over her cold, no doubt red, cheek. She looked up to the man straddling her hips, the man to which she felt powerless against and angry for her powerlessness, and saw him looking down at her. He had long, black hair. Not so long it came down to his shoulders, but leaning over her like this it almost concealed his features like an unkempt mop. He had a large, bushy beard. There was something about his features that she had never been able to place, something almost inhuman to them.
“You know I like it when you run, Lucile. I’m glad you didn’t tell me you had left, I would have found you sooner and we wouldn’t have this cabin to share tonight.” His smirk was wolfish, like a predator eyeing up a meal just within its reach. It was an ugly thing, she thought. An ugly thing from such a handsome man.
On a wild and rebellious impulse, she did the only thing she could from her position to retaliate against his words, and she spat at him. It was a chancy thing, spitting into the sky when lying on your back. Yet with him leant over her like he was, it landed true and hit him right in the face where she had wanted it. She felt a rush of satisfaction and fear from the sudden anger on his face.
Then he slapped her, and it made her gasp. He brushed his sleeve over his face, while she lay with half her face pressed into the snow. She felt more shame than she did pain from the slap, perhaps it was the cold numbing her. It made her suddenly realize the position she was in more than anything else up to this point, how well and truly helpless she was to him. She felt a sudden pang of arousal that excacerbated her shame. This man was beneath her – then why is he atop you?
She held a sullen silence as she felt his hands on the clasps of her coat, though she shivered when he pulled it open. Underneath, she was wearing only a thin white shirt. She watched his face as she felt his hand caress over her breasts through the shirt, feeling them as only the thin shirt lay between his hand and her body. She did not particularly care for the way her breasts felt in his hand, it gave her no physical pleasure. Yet his expression, the tenderness of his countenance, the lust in his eyes… she felt another sudden well of arousal and it again mingled with her shame. She did not want to enjoy his touch. She did not want him to force himself on her. Yet here he was, and she could not help herself but emit a faint sigh of mingled anxiety and pleasure.
Lucile resented his chuckle at the noise she had made. Her mind cleared somewhat for herself when she felt him take her shirt by its collar, and instead of unlace the tunic she felt him tear it open. She tried to sit up and rebuke him, but he pushed her back down into the snow forcefully and she was once more reminded of her place. He had not destroyed the shirt entirely, but it hung loosely now from her shoulders. It had been torn from the collar, down to her navel. She shivered from the cold, made worse by him reaching under her now torn shirt to feel her body again. He hand was still gloved, albeit thinly, and her shoulders tightened as her nipple hardened from his cold, rough fingers caressing it.
“Get it over with,” she snapped at him suddenly. “Get it over with so I can be back on my way.”
She knew what he wanted. It had happened before. He was going to take her – to force himself on her. He was going to fill her with his manhood, to give himself over to pleasure and leave her with his seed spilling from within herself, and be gone in the morning. She didn’t like that she hated the being alone in the morning usually more than she hated the act.
“No, I don’t think I will.” He rebuttled, smirking more wolfishly now. That was the other thing about her stalker, this lover she did not wish she had. He always took his time.
Faustin produced another cloth from somewhere on his person, and he pressed it over her eyes. He blindfolded her, and tied it neatly at the back of her head. She could not see him now, but she could still feel and hear him. She felt him force her mouth open, and press something leathery inside. Then she felt him bind a second cloth over her mouth, and behind her head. Now she could not speak either.
With much of her bodily autonomy taken from her, now she finally felt the man rise from her. She felt his hands on her shoulders, pulling her up from the ground with apparent ease. She took a step, stumbled, and felt his hands catch her. He straightened her again, and she felt his hand caress over her body.
“Let me help you. You’re in such a state right now, you’ll fall over if you don’t let me.”
She heard the amusement in his voice, and she allowed herself to be moved by his hand. One hand holding her arm, they slowly walked the few paces it took to get to the cabin. The door opened, she was made to step through the threshold, and then the door closed behind them and she felt herself pushed against the adjoining wall. Her back was to it, and a moment later she felt his hands on her again. This time they were not gloved.
The warmth of the cabin felt like an intense heat compared to the outside, and she felt pins and needles in her face and extremities after only a few moments over it. She also felt her stalker pressing his body to hers. Still clothed, as was she, the effect was still one of intense attraction mingled with shame. Somehow it felt less perverse to be blindfolded than not. She could imagine anything on the other side of her vision, and she imagined something less shameful than what was going on. She felt his hands on her body, touching her, feeling her. He tore her shirt open more thoroughly, and she could not free her hands to stop him. Still connected by the hem of her shirt, but now revealing everything near so much as taking it off would.
She felt his lips on her body. Kissing along it. His mouth first at her waist, and then moving upward. His mouth felt soft. It went from her waist, over her ribs, up to her breasts. She shivered as he sucked on her nipples, and gasped softly through her nose as he bit her there. The fleeting moment of pain seemed only to intensify her arousal, and for a moment she felt her shame vanish and she felt a rush of excitement. Impulsively, defiantly, she made to kick him. Blind, she missed and her leg deflected off of his own. Nevertheless, she felt his mouth rise from her body and she felt his hand slap her again.
There was another rush of excitement at it, and she emitted a muffled cry through her gag. Another exhilarating rush of arousal came over her. She lifted her leg as though intent on kicking him again, wanting to incite him to slap her once more, but then she lowered it back to the ground after a moment of hesitation.
“Good girl,” she heard him whisper, and she felt another shiver of excitement.
She felt his hands at her leather trousers, unlacing them in a slow, gratuitous manner. She felt his forehead press to her own, and the back of her head press to the wooden wall of their shared cabin. His voice was soft, but husky with arousal.
“I’m going to take you, Lucile. I’m going to press my cock so deep inside of you that it makes you squirm. I’m going to fuck you, and fuck you hard.”
She felt the words as much as heard them, with her legs trying halfheartedly to close and twist with shame, and she felt such a swell of arousal at his hand easily parting them again. He unlaced her trousers, and pushed them down enough that he press his hand to her womanhood through her panties. She felt him there, and the relief of his touch was enough to make her moan through her gag.
His fingers pressed at her womanhood, fondling her and she felt herself begin to slip down the wall as she wanted nothing more than to lie down, to lie down and be taken, so overwhelmed with feelings of intense arousal, of extreme lust. Yet she did not, for her counterpart held her there. His hand not at her womanhood pressed to her throat, and with it she felt a pang of anxiety and fear to have him touch her there. Those feelings also made her feel that same perverse, intense excitement. These feelings intertwined with her shame, and she felt her mind pushed away from her conflicted feelings as she felt him press his fingers inside of her and she tilted her head back.
She could feel how wet she was around him. His fingers pressed in deeply, and they pressed in so easily into her. Her mind refused to admit that her body wanted him, but her body would not deny itself. She felt it so intensely that she tried to close her legs again, and this time he parted them with his own. She felt his fingers press so deeply inside of her, moving back and forth, she gasped.
Then she felt him move her again. It felt like a blur, with her whining over the removal of his fingers, with her overwhelmed by the sound of her heartbeat in her own ears. Then suddenly her back was to his front, and she could lean on him so easily. She hadn’t moved far. Faustin had pressed his own back to the wall, and her against him. Now his free hand wrapped easily around her body, holding her to him as he continued to fondle her. The back of her head pressed to his chest, and she felt another shudder of arousal at remembering how tall he was.
Lucile did not hear the door open again, and thought the sudden cold came from a draft. She shivered, and it did not distract her from the motions of her unwanted lover. She felt her hips begin to move, and she began to shudder, feeling her climax near solely from the motions of him at the wall and the intensity of her experiences.
Then suddenly she felt the hands of a second man on her body, hands that were not her lover’s caressing her bare thighs, and moving upward along her body to her waist, grasping her breasts. Such was the intensity of her haze that she did not realize a stranger was upon her until a moment had passed, at which she suddenly kicked out her feet, squirming and trying to defend herself instinctively. She felt Faustin’s arms enclose around her, and she heard the stranger’s unfamiliar laugh.
She did kick him, but her efforts may as well have been feeble. Suddenly she felt his hands on her legs, and lifting them from the ground. She struggled as strongly as she could, trying to kick him, but it was to no avail with her legs in the air. She felt her body be folded, her legs raised and her calves pressed to the shoulders of an unfamiliar man. She cried out when she felt his hand slap her bottom, and she again squirmed and struggled as much as she could in a desperate, irrational bid to escape.
The tension in her body made her tight around his cock, when he entered her. She was so wet that he slid into her easily, and she felt her bound hands clutch tightly to the fabric of Faustin’s clothing. The stranger did not enter into her slowly, but with a thrust of his hard cock deep into her body. He was big enough that to feel the man press so deeply inside of her hurt, it made her ache in a way that if she had wanted him in there, the ache would feel like such intense pleasure. She screamed as loudly as she could into her gag, until she was breathless.
She felt him move back and forth inside of her, and she heard the man curse in a tone of intense pleasure, followed by perverse compliments. “God, you’re so tight!” The words of the unfamiliar man made her blush though neither could see it, and she heard herself whimper as her hands continued to clutch at the only thing they could reach.
She felt the same shame she felt when Faustin first took her. The shame of enjoying it, of relishing in the moment, of – after a time – wanting it and not wanting it to stop. She felt Basil’s fingers press to her womanhood again, now bare from the stranger having pulled her panties down in order to fuck her like this. She felt his fingers caressing her there, in the way that she liked. Roughly, eagerly, with an intensity to match the pace of affairs. The pace was fast, growing faster as she shuddered at the sound of the stranger’s moans.
It took her only a few moments, and again she felt gratitude for the blindfold she had forced upon her. She did not want to look at them, even as she wanted to be looked at. She felt Faustin’s hand grasp her breast tightly, enough that it ached. She felt his breath on her bare shoulder, heavy with desire. She felt the stranger’s callused hands tightly holding her hips, keeping her in place. She felt his cock most of all. She felt him bodily shove himself into her, filling her in ways only a man could. A strong man. A hard man. She let them take her, she wanted them to take her.
She felt a tightness in her abdomen not like the fear from before, but the tension of budding climax. She felt his cock inside her, and she could hear him moan from her tightening around him, tensing her body. So she did, and she relished in his moan. She could scarcely move, but to press her head back into Faustin’s body, and grip his shirt with her hands. If she tried to push him away with her legs, he was too strong for her. He was too much for her. Again and again he thrust himself into her until finally she felt a shudder escape her, and she felt a cry welling deep in her chest. She felt her body begin to gasp, and she felt the man’s cock so intensely inside of her that it was like nothing else she had ever felt before.
She screamed and shuddered and her legs quavered with the intensity of her orgasm, climaxing around the stranger’s cock while her stalker’s fingers fondled her. They kept fucking her after her climax, and the intensity of sensation drew it out, made it more intense, until it was so overwhelmingly sensitive and pleasurable that she redoubled her efforts to get away from them and even then they would not stop. Until finally they did, and she felt so exhausted and spent that her breaths were heaving and she struggled to catch her breath through her nose.
She felt the stranger step away, having not finished himself. She heard the uncorking of a bottle, and the sound of a man drinking deeply. Faustin took her in his arms, and laid her out on the nearby bed. For the moment she coasted, laying on her side and feeling a dull ache mingling with bliss. They weren’t done with her yet.
—
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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/wzqa2z/an_enouncounter_by_the_cabin_cnc_m21_f21_m21
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