Samantha stepped out of the taxi and drew
in a deep, cleansing breath. The fresh mountain air felt so sweet, soothing
her city-parched throat. Coming up here had to be the best decision she
had made in years. Of course, caring for an ill father for the last five
years hadn’t left her much choice as to how she would spend her time.
His passing gave her both the opportunity and the finances to do what
she had always dreamt of. Writing. She tightened her arms around the brand
new laptop she was clutching. A light breeze lifted soft bits of snow
in a swirling waltz . Sam turned in a slow circle, staring in wonder.
Rich green trees stood tall and proud, covered in a dusting of snow. Several
paths led into the forest, presumably to the cabins. She stopped, staring
in awe at the main building. The lodge must have been pulled straight
out of the Black Forest. With its peaked roof and delicate carvings, it
was both welcoming and majestic.
The cab driver dropped her bags behind her, drawing Sam out of her reverie.
She looked over her shoulder to find him glowering at her. He held out
his hand without speaking a word. Samantha bit back a grin and pressed
several bills into his hand. She watched as he climbed back into the car
and went skidding down the steep road. The driver nearly lost control
twice before disappearing from view. Sam lifted her bags, and turned toward
the lodge, laughter bubbling up. Lord, it had been too long since that
sound had left her lips. Once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop.
It was several minutes before she calmed enough to go check in. As she
neared the beautiful building, she heard the sound of wood cracking. In
a small clearing, a man was swinging an axe, chopping firewood. He was
clad only in faded jeans and work boots, long black hair tied at the nape
of his neck. The cold air didn’t seem to be bothering him, his bare chest
covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Sam stood entranced. Now this was a
figure drawn from many a fantasy. Powerful arms flexed as the sharp blade
cut through the wood. Clean cuts down the middle, each half of the log
falling to the side. This was a man in full control of each motion. Sam
dragged her tongue over suddenly too-dry lips. At that moment, he looked
up, startling blue eyes glaring at her. She took one step backward, the
anger in his face too intimidating to meet. He turned away, dismissing
her. The air felt much cooler as she hurried to the lodge. He may have
been incredible to look at, but his manners were certainly less than attractive.
Heat struck her cheeks as she opened the heavy wood door. Samantha gasped
in delight, taking in the main room. The ceiling must have been fifteen
feet high. Chandeliers hung from large wooden beams. At one time, they
must have held candles the size of her arm. But now, good old electricity
bathed the room in a warm light. Comfortable, overstuffed chairs were
placed around low tables and a massive fireplace. Nearly every bit of
wood was carved with woodland scenes. She could spend hours at the hearth
alone, pouring over each curve. And over the fire hung an impressive tapestry
depicting a hunt. Men on horses chased down a stag of mythic proportions.
The colours were deep and rich, the artist obviously a master. The entire
room was larger than life and welcoming in the same breath. She heard
someone softly clear their throat and turned to the main desk.
A tiny woman stood behind the guest book, smiling gently. “You must be
Sam stepped forward quickly. “Yes. Yes, I am. But?”
The smile widened, eyes that must have once charmed many a man twinkling.
“Why, you’re the only one scheduled to arrive today, dear. Now, you asked
for the cabin furthest out. That’s quite a walk. We do have others, still.
Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Oh yes,” Sam nodded eagerly. “I could do with a bit of solitude.”
“Alright, dear. Feel free to come down here anytime you like. I’m Abigail.
Now, here is some information you might find useful while you are here.
There’s the meal schedule. Never anything fancy, but it will keep your
insides warm. Every cabin has a phone, and there’s a list of numbers.
But, after a heavy storm, the lines tend to fail, so there is also a short
wave radio and detailed directions on how to use it. Here is a map of
the grounds and another of trails. Do you ski?”
The question came as a surprise after the barrage of instructions. “Uhm…
ski? No, not in many years. I think I could manage in a pinch.”
“That’s fine, then. We won’t have to worry about sending out search parties.”
Sam hoped she was joking as Abigail handed over a small brass key. On
one of the maps, she drew a winding line from the lodge to a tiny square.
“It’s the first path on the left of the lodge. Just follow it to the end.
Call as soon as you get there, so I know you found it. I’ll send Daniel
down with more firewood when he’s done chopping it.”
Daniel… so that was his name. Samantha started to ask about him, and thought
better of it. She didn’t want to appear to show interest. He made fabulous
eye-candy, but she was in no mood for more attitude. Instead, she took
the key and folder of info with a warm smile. “Thank you, Abigail.”
She lifted her bags again, throwing one over her shoulder and stepped
out into the chill air again. Keeping her chin up, shoulders back, and
eyes forward, she strode down the path past Mr. Wonderful. There was a
pause in the sound of wood cracking, but she refused to look. Screw him.
She wasn’t here for human companionship. She’d had enough of that, thank
you very much. Solitude. That’s what she told Abigail, and she meant it.
Between her father needing her so and her friends comforting her after
his death, she’d had enough to last a lifetime.
Before long, Sam had her wish. She stopped and turned in a slow circle.
She was surrounded by snow-dusted trees and still, quiet air. It was perfect.
She inhaled deeply, letting a grin of pure joy curl her lips. It just
didn’t get any better than this.
The cabin appeared around a curve. Nestled snug in the forest, Sam didn’t
think she had ever seen a more welcoming visage. She eagerly opened the
door and peered inside. It was nearly a miniature version of the lodge,
with one large area encompassing the living room and bedroom. An overstuffed
couch and chair snuggled before a brick fireplace. The massive four-poster
bed took up most of one side, silk scarves dangling from each post. It
looked like a gentle beast, languishing under the picture window. Sam
set her bags on the chest at the foot of the bed and threw herself onto
the mattress. Rolling onto her belly, she dropped her face into a pillow
and kicked her legs, giddy with freedom.
Recovering, she sat up, peeling off her coat. Time to explore a little.
The other side of the room held a tiny kitchen. It was stocked with the
basics and had a working stove and microwave. Sam opened a door on the
back wall of the cabin, and yelped with delight. The tiny room was mostly
glass. A hot tub/bath graced the center, promising to soak away whatever
worries still lingered. Sam guessed that the closet off to the side held
a toilet. At least she hoped it did. She didn’t relish the notion of middle-of-the-night
jaunts to an outhouse.
Easing the door closed again, Sam went about unpacking and settling in.
She had paid for three weeks here, with the option of extending her visit.
Back home, it was probably raging hot with nothing but stress as far as
the eye could see. But here, a winter paradise. And she wasn’t leaving
til she was good and ready.
After a light lunch of soup and crackers, Sam sat down at the small table
where she had set up her laptop. Her fingers itching, she began typing
out a tale of high fantasy and wild romance. It was silly, she knew. But
she didn’t care. You had to start somewhere. Three hours later, she sat
back and stretched, back and shoulders groaning in protest. Sam looked
at the closed back door, the warmth of the tub a siren’s call. She snapped
the laptop shut and grabbed up a light cotton robe.
When she finally emerged from the hot tub, chestnut curls piled on top
of her head, there was a pounding on the door. She froze for a moment,
before recalling that Abigail was going to send more firewood. Maybe Daniel
would be so kind as to start the fire for her. Yeah, right. She opened
the door and stepped back to let him pass. He had put on a deep blue shirt,
but still wore no coat. Dropping the wood onto the floor before the hearth,
he began piling it neatly. Sam stood behind the couch, watching him. Gods,
but he was beautiful. Soft lamplight gentled his features, making him
seem almost kind. Then he did the unimaginable. He set several logs in
the fireplace and within moments, there was a crackling fire within. When
he rose and turned to her, she ventured a small, friendly smile.
She missed the tightening of his lips and the warning flashing in his
eyes. She didn’t see his hand lift until it was too late. The back of
his fist struck her across the cheek, knocking her to the floor. She landed
on her side and pushed up onto one hand. She was stunned, unable to react.
When she lifted her head to look at him, her eyes were wide with fear
“You will keep your eyes on the floor,” he snarled.
Defiance flared hot. Sam threw her head back and straightened her shoulders.
Exactly who did he think he was? Did he seriously expect her to follow
his commands? To allow him the chance to abuse, maybe violate her? Her
throbbing cheek beat out a plaintive tempo, begging her to remain still.
She ignored the pain, shifting to her knees and raising her eyes to his
face. He was smiling.
There was not a shred of warmth in the curve of his lips. Rather, they
were twisted in a cruel parody of pleasure. His eyes held more ice than
the winter wonderland outside. Sam realized her mistake as cold metal
touched the bottom of her chin. She should have watched his damned hands.
He turned the blade, its sharp edge gently caressing her skin, holding
“You’re a haughty little slut, aren’t you?” His voice was deep, beautiful,
and deadly, “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”
She began to tremble as his free hand unbuckled his belt. Oh no no no.
He was going to rape her. Reality slipped into the surreal as he unsnapped
his jeans and slid the zipper down. She could hear the wind howling outside,
could picture the cozy cabin wrapped in a cloud of snow, the trail buried.
Even if she made it to the door, she’d never get back to the lodge.
Oh, you just had to have the most isolated cabin, didn’t you, Sammy-girl?
Where no one will hear you scream. Grand.
The mocking voice was silenced by disbelief as he pulled himself free
and nudged her lips with the tip of his manhood. Sweet heaven, he was
huge! She leaned back a little, then froze as the knife slid from her
chin to her neck.
“Suck it, you stupid cunt,” the blade pressed closer, “Suck it or I’ll
slit your throat open and throw you to the wolves.”
She would later think back and recall how odd it was that the cry of a
lone wolf would break through the wind at just that moment. But, for now,
he seemed to control nature itself and that terrified her. When he tapped
at her lips again, she parted them reluctantly. Her breath caught as he
slipped his shaft into the warmth of her mouth. Her lips stretched to
accommodate him, her cheek once more jumping with now dulled pain. Her
mind was racing, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Oh god oh god, please, I don’t want to die.
Idiot, you’re not going to die. The mocking voice was back, but gentled.
I can’t do this, I can’t!
You can. Shhh… calm down. Breathe. It doesn’t have to be rape. How long
since a man has touched you? A man, not a fumbling boy. He wants you!
Give in and enjoy.
Its not about sex, its about power.
So? Make it about sex… give in… give in…
Sam felt the knife shift and made her choice. If there was no way out
of this, she was not going to be a victim. She tentatively moved her tongue,
dragging it along the bottom of his shaft. He tensed, and she opened her
eyes to see a spasm of lust cross his face. She had only done this once
before, in high school. The boy had been so excited, he came as soon as
her lips touched him. He had jerked back and shot all over her face. That
was the end of their relationship.
But this. This was far different. He was hard, to be sure. But, the skin
was so soft. Almost velvety. She gently explored each ridge and curve,
delighting in the rush of his blood pulsing on her tongue. She inhaled
deeply, his scent surrounding her.
She nearly choked when he grabbed the back of her head and thrust down
her throat. He dropped the knife, gripping her hair with both hands. “Are
you deaf? Do not force me to repeat myself. Suck my cock, don’t fucking
He thrust again, filling her mouth and throat with hard, throbbing flesh.
Sam gagged, trying to breath. As he pulled back, she clamped her lips
tightly around him. He paused, waiting. She could feel his eyes on her.
Slowly, then with increasing speed, she slid her mouth up and down the
length of him, tugging, dancing the tip of her tongue around his cock.
A low groan whispered in her ear and his fingers clenched her hair tighter.
She heard him mutter, “Oh fuck, yes.” Hot, thick liquid shot down her
throat, filled her mouth. She swallowed convulsively and he moaned again.
She suckled and licked until his shuddering ceased. He stepped away from
her, zipping his pants.
Sam sat back on her heels. She struggled to keep a satisfied grin off
her face. The salty sweet taste of him lingered in her mouth. Heady with
imagined triumph, she raised her eyes and looked at him, a small smile
curling her lips.
One dark elegant brow arched. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt as she drank
in the sight of him. She watched his fingers glide down the material.
Her teeth bit into her bottom lip, swallowing a whimper. Raw hunger clawed
at her. She wanted those hands on her. Those hands that only moments ago
she was cursing. He peeled the shirt off his broad shoulders, the firelight
playing over every muscle. With a flick of his wrist, the shirt landed
on the overstuffed chair, neatly draped across the arm. Hands on his slim
hips, he looked down at her and smiled. Sam let herself relax. He was
stunning and he was hers for the night, at least. “So,” the sound was
husky, amused, “Do you like what you see?”
She nodded, tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. She didn’t try to
speak, doubting she could. She was trembling as he reached out to her.
But, instead of a gentle caress, he hauled her to her feet by her hair.
Holding her with one hand, he tore the robe from her body.
Sam tried to cover herself, but he slapped her hands. He growled in her
ear, “You were told to keep your eyes on the floor. You disobeyed. What
He dragged her to the bed. She dug in her heels and struggled, batting
at him. He shook her head as if she were a rag doll. By the time they
crossed the room, stopping at the foot of the bed, she was dizzy and crying.
“I… I… I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry.”
There was no response. He released her hair and wrapped her hands around
the bedposts. After tying the silk scarves snuggly to her wrists, he gathered
her hair off her shoulders and tamed it into one long braid. Then he stepped
back. Standing behind her, Sam couldn’t see the heated expression cross
his face as he looked her over. His smile was possessive, his hands curling
into fists as he fought to urge to simply take her. Regaining control,
he pulled the belt from his pants, all but laughing as she flinched. So,
she had heard that sound before. Well, the spankings from childhood were
nothing compared to what this night would bring. He paced, back and forth,
watching her body grow more and more tense. He let her wonder, worry.
Seconds ticked by, each an eternity.
Then, he swung. At the first strike of leather to skin, Sam gripped the
bedposts to keep from falling. Her back arched, pain streaking through
her. His words came back to taunt her… “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”
She had thought he would rape her. She had thought to turn it around.
She had thought wrong, and she knew that no amount of begging would sway
He struck again. And again. He moved with precision, each blow inflicting
searing pain, but never damaging the skin. She would have red welts for
a few days, but not a drop of blood was spilt. He fell into an easy rhythm,
criss-crossing her back. Occassionaly, he would lay the belt across her
thighs or her sweetly curved backside.
She cried, she screamed, she begged, and she cursed. Her body was on fire,
blow after blow stoking the flames higher. Never had she known such physical
agony. She hung weakly from the bed, helpless tears staining the quilt.
Her screams dwindled to whimpers, then silence. And still the assault
Her world began to shrink. Her awareness narrowed to the width of the
leather strap. Her existence became stinging pain. She pulled into herself…
and went back…
She knelt before him, his cock deep in her throat. She opened the door
to let him in. She packed her bags. She watched the casket being lowered.
Further… go further…
She held his hand, as her father lay dying. She read to him, fed him,
clothed him, loved him.
No, please… Yes! You must go further…
She spent hours searching the streets for him. She watched the intelligence
fade from his eyes… watched the recognition die…
There! That’s it… that’s when you went numb, when you stopped feeling.
He heard the change in her cries. The pain of her flesh paled beneath
the agony within. Her head came up as fresh sobs wracked her form. Anguish
and bitter loss filled the room. He did not stop, did not pause. He could
not until she fought her way through this.
Please stop. Leave me be. No! Let it hurt, let it burn and cleanse.
Feel! Remember what it is to feel…
And burn it did. The memories crashed over her in waves, unrelenting.
Her mother, gone before she knew her. Her father, ravaged by cancer and
Alzheimer’s until he could no longer function. Her life, given to his
care and now at loose ends. Each one blazing white hot until it was gone.
The pain was suddenly bearable, as if years of burden had been sliced
away, leaving strength behind.
Then it happened. The strap curled around her ribs, its touch a sharp
kiss on her bare breast. Pain transformed to intense pleasure. She gasped
as the belt lashed her chest again. One pain traded for another. Agony
smoothing into wicked pleasure. He kicked her legs apart and brought the
strap snapping up.
She sobbed softly, the sound muffled. He stepped forward, whispering in
her ear, “Ahhh… you like that, don’t you? Do you need your cunt spanked,
little slut?” He was rubbing the leather over her, taunting.
She nodded, and he jerked on her hair. “Speak! You will answer me properly,”
silky smooth, but no less dangerous. There was no going back. He had led
her down an unknown path, and a deep need insisted that she move forward.
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
“Please what… slut.”
Sam hesitated. Such words had never left her lips before. But, she craved
more of the sweet pleasure rather than the pain. And so, she gave him
what he wanted. “Please spank my cunt, Sir.” Her voice was tremulous,
“Good, good. So I will. But first, show me what a hot little whore you
are. Grind that pussy on my belt.”
Humiliation flooded her cheeks. He pressed the strap snuggly against her,
waiting. Slowly she began rocking her hips back and forth. Her lips parted,
a low moan rising from her throat. Riding the gentle waves of pleasure,
she moved faster and faster still. He was speaking softly, urging her
on. She knew she was pleasing him, and that gave her the freedom to let
go. It was so easy, once she stopped fighting him. Desire rose hard and
swift. Muscles tightened and tension gripped her abdomen as the waves
crested higher. He snapped the belt again, stinging swollen flesh, sending
her tumbling toward the edge of ecstasy.
“No!” His sharp command tore her back, trembling from release denied.
Frustration rolled off her. He pulled the leather away and held it up
to her face, just under her nose. Sweet musk drifted to her senses.
“Smell yourself,” he brushed the belt, slick with her passion over her
lips, “taste… such a hot, beautiful woman.”
She shook her head, his words opening old wounds. The strap left her sight
and cracked across her backside. She jumped and turned her head toward
him. The belt struck again and she cast her eyes back to the quilt.
“You will never argue with me. And before long, Samantha, you will believe
me.” The use of her name, so unexpected, sent shivers down her spine.
He tossed the belt aside. “I don’t think you need to be spanked. I think
you need your cunt fucked.”
He unzipped his pants again and stepped against her. “Hard. Savage. Raw.”
With each word, he rubbed the head of his cock over her clit. Sam groaned
and pushed her hips back, silently begging. He stroked her faster, prodding
her toward the ledge again. Just as she felt the tension build, he slapped
his hand across her ass.
“Not until I tell you. Now, what do you want, harlot?” He sounded different.
She suspected his iron will was slipping a bit. If he could push, so could
she. She turned her head, barely enough so that he could see her face,
but keeping her eyes averted. He lips, bruised and puffy from crying and
being chewed, curled into a sensuous smile. When she spoke, her voice
was soft and sultry.
“This slut wants you to fuck her, Sir.”
The last word came out in a hiss as he snapped his hips, burying himself
in her. His fingers dug into her waist. She was no virgin, but it had
been so long that she may as well have been. She gripped him in a silken
vice. He held still for a moment, breathing deeply. Sam held the bedposts
with white-knuckled fingers. She felt as if she were tearing in two. She
would have sworn he was larger than before. She was burning, stretching.
And it was wonderful.
He began to rock slowly, long steady strokes. She whimpered, a primal
hungry animal clawing for more. She didn’t want this tenderness. Wanton
lust took hold of her tongue, “Please!”
“Please, what?” There was laughter in his voice. She knew he was manipulating
her, and she didn’t care.
“Harder! Please, fuck me harder.”
The question stunned her. What the hell did he mean, why? The beast within
twisted, writhing with greed. “Because… because I need it.”
“Oh, god… I need your cock, harder, please!” She was near desperate as
he continued his slow caress.
“And will you suffer without it?”
He pulled back, barely touching her. Sam chewed on her lip. She would
beg no more. She would not need to. He slammed into her, fingers moving
to her hips. There was no rhythm, no finesse as he pounde3d her relentlessly.
Punishment and reward mingled. She held on to the bedposts as the beast
inside cried out with joy, twisting wildly. She had never felt so alive!
He showed no mercy, driving into her flesh with a seemingly unending thirst.
Once more reality slithered away. Her senses sharpened. She felt his nails
biting into her skin, heard his breathing grow laboured. He was hard,
pulsing within her. So strong, so intense, building to a frantic pace.
The beast coiled, ready to spring. She fought it down, waiting for his
word. Coppery warmth tickled her tongue, her teeth sinking into her lip.
The tension was incredible. Heat blazed in her veins.
“Now! Cum with me, baby.” He surged against her, growling his pleasure.
Liquid fire filled her, spilling out between them. Her head fell back
as the beast leapt free, screaming, blending into the raging storm outside.
Her soul shattered.
Samantha awoke to the sun shining through the curtains and the phone ringing.
She was tucked into her bed, soft sheets and blankets snuggled close.
Blinking, she sat up and winced. Every muscle ached as she reached for
Abigail’s friendly voice chattered in her ear, “Good morning, dear. Did
I wake you? I’m so sorry. Daniel insisted that I call right away and see
if you are well after last night’s storm?”
Memory flooded over her. Daniel.
“Dear? Are you there?”
“Hmm? Oh yes, sorry. Please tell him I found the storm… exhilarating.”
She fought the keep the purr out of her voice.
Abigail’s relief was clear. “Did you? Wonderful! There’s quite a mess
to clean up here. I’ll send him ‘round in a few days with supplies, alright?”
“That would be fine. Thank you.” Sam was smiling as she hung up. She should
be sufficiently healed by then.