Cabin Fever

by Roe Horvat

  Then he slapped my ass.

  “How many do you want?”

  “Fifteen.” I felt bold.

  “You’ll get twenty.”

  My erection jerked, and my balls tightened. Vincent beating my ass, sweaty, with his gun holster across his chest… Fuck.

  He pushed my legs farther apart and spanked my ass with harsh, quick slaps, hitting my crease with every other loud whack. The last five were brutal. Powerful, hard blows, sending my body forward, and the side of my face mashed into the ground. Mad with lust, I took it. “Yes, agh, more, umph.”

  And then he pushed his tongue into my hole.

  Holy fucking hell and all the demons!

  The contrast between the throbbing pain all over my ass and the slick velvet of his tongue inside me was mind-blowingly hot. He pushed deep into me and slurped on my pucker. Wet noises rose around us, obscene and so wrong out here in the innocent nature. His fist squeezed my hopelessly hard cock, and I came, crying out. I lay there panting, coming down from the high.

  But Vincent wasn’t done with me. He let go of my dick, and I tried to look back.

  “Daddy?”

  The blunt pressure on my hole surprised me. We had no supplies here, but his cockhead was a little slick against my pucker. He wants to use my cum as lube. That was not nearly enough for me to take him. Oh fuck. My brain went into a frenzy. Do it. Make it unbearable.

  “It’s going to hurt.” He paused with the tip of his cock kissing my hole. He was giving me an out.

  “I want it.” The words flew out of my mouth without thinking.

  His cockhead forced inside me, and I groaned. With only my cum and his spit easing the way, Vincent impaled me on his huge cock. It hurt so fucking good. I shouted from the pain, my voice carrying over the lake.

  He held me by my tied hands and fucked me ruthlessly.

  “I told you,” he rasped, “I’m more… than you can handle…”

  I didn’t know how it was even possible, but I was hard again.

  “You still like my cock, boy? You like it ripping you apart?”

  I only wailed in response.

  “Want me to stop?”

  “No! Don’t stop, Daddy. Please don’t stop.”

  “Fucking hell, Mikey…” He slipped out of his role. He sped up, and I yelled from the intensity. The burn, the pressure on my gland, the impossible fullness, I loved it. I was probably sick in the head because I loved every second of the brutal pounding.

  I wanted to touch myself. I would’ve come again, but I was helpless. The sleeves of my shirt were tight around my wrists, chafing my skin.

  When he finally came inside me, tears had welled in my eyes, and my throat was sore from screaming. And I was so fucking happy. The joy bubbled in my veins. My dick throbbed, my balls ached with need, and I basked in the torturous feeling.

  With surprising clarity, I knew I wanted to belong to Vincent forever. I wanted to be a hole for his cock for the rest of my life. Just to beg him to fuck me every day and stay in this cabin until the world went under around us. I wouldn’t need anything else. I’d be his slave, his fuckhole, and be grateful.

  When he pulled out and untied me, his cum soothed my burning hole. He laid me on my side into the dirt and wrapped himself around me as we both caught our breath.

  “Daddy…” I whimpered and fisted my length. “Please.”

  “Make yourself come.” Vincent rose on his elbow and watched as I stroked myself, writhing on the ground. He clasped a hand under my chin and lightly squeezed my throat, his intense gaze boring into my eyes. I came for a second time, my body arching, the stinging burn in my hole only heightening my orgasm. Vincent rubbed the cum over my lower body, my belly and hips, massaging it into my skin.

  After a few minutes, he pulled my pants back up and handed me my dirty, crumpled shirt. He went to wash his hands in the lake. I was covered with pine needles and dirt, sticky with drying cum, my knees were scraped, and my right cheek was bruised from being pushed facedown into the ground.

  In my mind, I was flying.

  I tried not to wince as I sat to tie my shoes. Fucking hell, my ass hurt. Inside and out.

  “C’mon. I need to warm you up,” he said when he came back. He was not his usual self. For the first time, Vincent sounded insecure.

  I stood and took a few steps. Ouch.

  “Mikey…” Vincent began, his voice weak.

  “I’m fine, Vincent. Let’s go back.”

  He walked behind me as I limped back to the cabin. He made me lie on the sofa and applied aloe cream on my ass. Then he parted my ass cheeks and kissed my pucker. Really kissed. My eyes fell shut, and I just lay there, feeling him. It was strange how not sexual it felt. Yeah, we were both sated, but still… He kissed my hole like he kissed my mouth, gentle and loving, lips nipping softly, his tongue soothing the rim.

  “My beautiful fuckhole,” he murmured. “You taste of our cum and nothing else, baby.”

  No lube. Yeah. I was probably going to pay for that tomorrow. But damn, I had no regrets.

  He kissed my hole for a while longer, sending sweet little tremors into my body, and then his lips traveled up through my crease and along my spine until he was kissing my neck.

  “Stay like this and rest. I’ll make lunch.”

  Lying on my belly on the sofa, the thick layer of cream cooling my skin, I observed him as he moved around the kitchen corner, humming to music as he stirred the pasta. The lingering pain in my body warmed me like a comfort blanket—proof I belonged to Vincent.

  That night, we went to his bed together as a matter of course. I loved kissing Vincent. Loved it. I had constant beard burn all over my face and neck, but it only made me giddy. I kissed him now, relishing in the taste of him. In his bed, late at night, it was so easy to believe we were just lovers on a getaway, lost in each other. And I loved sleeping naked, surrounded by his warmth and scent. I clung to him, nuzzling the side of his throat.

  He rolled me onto my back and pinned my arms above my head. His gaze roamed my face. “Does it still hurt?”

  “No.” I was being honest. It wasn’t that bad. Just normal soreness after a thorough fuck. “It was the hottest sex of my entire life. When I realized you had smeared your cock with my cum and were going to fuck me… It was magnificent. The pain was magnificent.”

  Vincent slid his hands down my body, grabbed my ass cheeks, and pulled me to him.

  “You’re dangerous, my sweet boy. I should keep you on a leash.”

  “Do it. Put me in a collar and make me lie at your feet.”

  “Mikey...” He sighed.

  I closed my eyes. He kissed down my body, his short beard tickling my neck and shoulder. He toyed with the barbells and sucked on my nipples. He even brushed over my scraped knees. His lips traveled back up, tracing my ribs and collarbones, and then we were kissing again, slower and slower until we just breathed against each other’s mouth, with a few soft brushes of sensitive skin against skin. He held me tight, his hand cupping my head, the other on my ass, and suddenly, my heartbeat surged with a terrifying realization. We weren’t touching because we were going to have sex again. We were both sated and mellow from the rough coupling outside earlier that day. We were making out before we fell asleep, just to be close to each other.

  As if we were in love.

  14

  His pleasure

  Vincent

  I knew I was beyond help when I found myself standing in the kitchen, with Michael in my arms, both of us fully clothed, kissing. Tongues caressing, his hands in my hair, his taste and scent all around me and in me. Just kissing.

  He hummed and nuzzled my beard.

  “Can we go outside for a while? I want to move. I know the morning run should be enough, but…”

  The report had been good for the past few days. We were completely alone. So, I nodded. “Yeah. You know self-defense, Mikey?” A random idea popped into my head.

  “Not really, no.”

  “Then c�
�mon.”

  We paused on the pier. The wide flat surface was good enough for what I had in mind. I showed him a few tricks, just basics, nothing with guns or knives, and he tried to mimic me, alternately concentrating and laughing. He was quick to learn. I didn’t teach him expecting he’d need it anytime soon—that was my job. The crash course was a way to lift his mood, kill some time, and maybe even calm his frail nerves.

  He managed to hit my neck just right, and I dutifully pretended to crumble. He jumped and fisted the air. Adorable.

  “Yes!” he cried out. “An hour every day, and I’ll be Karate Kid.”

  I chuckled. “Sure, Mikey. Whatever you want.”

  “Seriously. This is fun. I want to do it again.”

  “We can. No problem. Now dinner. It’ll be dark in an hour.”

  He leaned in and pecked my lips, his grin wide and happy.

  “Thank you. My turn to cook.”

  I took a shower, and when I was done, Michael had dinner ready. We still had enough supplies, but it was getting boring now we’d run out of fresh food. Michael was inventive, though. Tonight, he’d made chili con carne from frozen meat and canned beans with some ready-made pasta sauce. It was delicious. However, I noticed he was careful with what he ate, taking only a little of the chili, his plate half-full of mostly cooked potatoes. He’s made the food for you, not for himself. He’s making sure you can fuck him whenever you want.

  “Michael, eat properly, please.”

  He met my eyes, all guileless innocence, pretending not to understand. I added more chili to his plate.

  “Eat, boy.”

  He looked down, smiling softly at the food.

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  We ate in silence for a while. I had questions I’d been wanting to ask, but was unsure about how much stress it would cause him. I weighed the pros and cons of the conversation and decided to broach the subject. He’d been happy today, calmer than I’d ever seen him. I was going to ruin his mood, but my need to protect him prevailed.

  “Mikey.”

  “Hm?” he mumbled around a mouthful.

  “I read the FBI report before we left New Haven.”

  He lifted his gaze from his plate. “Yeah?”

  “You never gave them any suspects.”

  “Because I seriously don’t know.” His tone became immediately annoyed. “I can’t just point at a person in my life and say yeah, they might’ve hired a killer to take me out. That’s ridiculous.”

  “No one ever came to mind, you say.”

  His eyes flashed. “Of course, they had. Just about every single person I know. I’m so fucking paranoid it has even occurred to me Uncle Bart might be fed up with me enough to kill me.”

  “That’s very unlikely.” I ignored his frustration and tried to stay calm. I knew how he felt. The trauma of being exposed to something like this was going to affect him for a long time after it was all over. “Who else?” I kept my voice steady, even though inside, I ached for him.

  “I have no idea who could be capable of such a thing. None.”

  “During the past couple of years, who has been angry with you?”

  “Uncle Bart.” Michael’s shoulders slumped. “Too many times to count.”

  “Besides Bartholomew Bourgeon, who loves you like a parent and has no financial motive. Think, Mikey. I want you to remember conflicts, threats, angry rants, late-night phone calls. Who?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Multiple exes. One of Uncle Bart’s CFOs. My personal trainer. Bunch of other people I can’t remember.”

  “Tell me about the CFO first.”

  “It was nothing. I got drunk at a gala and embarrassed him in front of an investor.”

  “Something that could’ve endangered his career?”

  He scoffed. “I doubt it.”

  “What about the PT?”

  “Luca. I thought he mainly took the job because he wanted to fuck me. Turned out he actually wanted to work on my fitness goals. He came to an appointment, and I was high.”

  “Michael.” I sighed.

  “See, I do need babysitting. Twenty-four seven.” He winked at me. “Anyway, it was just pot.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What did Luca do when he realized you were high?”

  “The first time he left. The second time he yelled at me in Italian. He quit. But damn, I’d never been yelled at quite like that. I should’ve filmed it.”

  God, he was driving me crazy.

  “What about the exes. Anyone who got aggressive?”

  He took a deep breath. He must’ve realized he wasn’t getting out of the conversation. “I don’t know. My relationships are complicated at best.”

  “I have no idea why,” I muttered. “Give me some names, Mikey.”

  “Ian was the worst, I think.” Michael studied his almost empty plate. He picked up a fork and pushed a potato around with it.

  “Ian who?”

  “Ian Hannity. We’d been together for a couple of months, but that was, like, a year ago? We weren’t exclusive, so I don’t know what the big deal was. He turned up at one of the parties in my apartment and made a scene.”

  “Was he violent? Did he threaten you?”

  “Ian?” Michael sneered. “No. He’s a wimp. Creepy, but a wimp.”

  “What does creepy mean?” My mind was on high alert.

  “He used to ask me to describe the sex I had with other men while he fucked me. Shit like that. He was into pretty ugly humiliation, and that’s not my thing. It weirded me out, so I stopped seeing him. He turned up at the party, coked up, yelling I was a whore, so I had him escorted out. After that, he sent a few messages, but eventually, he gave up. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “What was in those messages?” I pushed. His obvious discomfort was even more of a reason to explore the possibility.

  “Just fantasies. No real threats.”

  “Be specific, Michael.”

  He pinned his green eyes on me, and with obvious disgust, he gritted out, “He wrote detailed descriptions of how he’d make me eat my own shit and then fuck me with a baseball bat. When I blocked his number, he wrote from another. I never replied. After some time, he stopped messaging. Are we done now?”

  “Does he have the means to hire a professional killer?”

  Michael chuckled, but his laugh sounded nervous now. Insecure. “He’s a high-flying broker. He could afford even you. But he’d never kill me. It’s too much of an effort for him.”

  “Mikey, it’s easy to kill someone when you don’t have to do it with your own hands.”

  Michael looked at me for a while, and I could see the wheels in his head turning.

  “Want me to tell some people to look into Ian?”

  “Yeah. Whatever,” he said quietly. His anger gone, he looked defeated. Drained. He stood from the table, took his plate, and turned toward the kitchen corner.

  I grabbed his wrist. “Mikey, it’ll be okay. You’ll get through this.”

  “Yeah, sure. I just… I know I’m a spoiled brat and an irresponsible idiot. I’ve done some pretty fucked-up shit in my life. You have no idea.” His voice got softer. Vulnerable. “But I have never intentionally hurt anyone, you know? Not enough to deserve to…”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, his lip curled in an obvious attempt to hold back tears. Oh, Michael. I took the plate from him, put it on the table, stood, and gathered him in my arms.

  “You don’t deserve this, Mikey. You really don’t.”

  I held him, and he clung to me for a long while.

  After dinner, Michael lounged on the sofa with his sketchbook. He seemed calmer now, engrossed in his drawing. I went through the reports my people sent me, like I did every night. The decoy was now set, and the FBI was hopeful. I had my doubts, but I wouldn’t share them with Michael. He had enough on his plate as it was. I sent the request to check on Ian Hannity, a New York broker, to my investigator and asked him to notify Agent Madsen from the FBI. It might be a wild goose chase, but I w
asn’t taking any chances.

  When I was done, satisfied we were still as hidden as I wanted us to be, I noticed him watching me.

  “Can I see?” I gestured to his sketchbook, which had been on my mind since the first day.

  To my surprise, Michael blushed. I’d never seen him blush before. He swallowed and handed me the sketchbook.

  What he’d drawn made my eyes burn.

  Doodles covered the large paper, some just a few lines, some detailed, extremely skilled, and realistic. Pictures of me. My hands holding the iPad. My silhouette as I sat in the armchair. My frowning eyes, focused.

  I put the sketchbook on the table, not daring to leaf through. Michael had only shown me one page, and I wouldn’t abuse his trust. He sat hunched over, looking at his knees, tugging at some lint on his sweats.

  “Baby, come here,” I said, my voice hoarse.

  He lifted his head, then stood and took my outstretched hand. I tugged him down to me until he sat on my lap. Holding his gorgeous, fearful face between my hands, I kissed his lips. He opened his mouth for me and moaned into the kiss, always so eager, his desire for me palpable.

  “Those are beautiful. Thank you for showing me.” His green eyes grew liquid.

  We kissed again, and I grew hard. Of course, I did, as Michael was rubbing his ass over the bulge in my jeans. Sex was easy, much easier than the complicated emotions growing inside me whenever I got to know him a little more. So, I kneaded his ass muscles and grazed my teeth down the tendons on his throat.

  “Daddy…” A needy whine.

  I bit his lip.

  “Go get the lube, boy.”

  He shot up as if electrocuted, and was back within seconds, ripping his clothes off, then opening my jeans. I took off my shirt and sat back, spreading my legs and watching him. He knelt between my thighs, lubed his fingers, and opened himself up while he sucked me. Then he slathered my length and straddled me again, taking me in slowly until he was sitting on my hips, my cock as deep in his body as it would go. Eyes closed, he threw his head back, rolled his hips, groaning with relief.

  I gently cupped his cheek. He licked his lips and grinned, rocking back and forth. “You feel so good in my hole. Sometimes I dream about you fucking me for the whole night. And I’d just keep coming until I passed out.”