Cabin Fever - An Erotic Novel

Chapter 13 - Reflections (FINAL EDIT)

In the dream, snow was softly falling, catching the light from windows and streets, reflecting it to illuminate the sleeping city.

In the dream, I was standing on Abbie's little terrace on the third floor, watching her watch her reflection.

She was all in white. An angel, stripped down to her cotton panties and lacy tank top. Pale skin, slender limbs, bare feet. A cascade of blonde hair, barely kept in check by a braid, falling gracefully across one perfect shoulder. A smile that could dazzle the moon. Eyes that were no color and every color in between, flecked with gold, sparkling like jewels. Perfection taken flesh. Purity made manifest. A goddess come to Earth to torment me.

I could see her – but she could not see me, for my soul was so black I could hide in shadows and reflections.

"Let me in," I whispered, for like a vampire, I could not enter uninvited.

She hesitated.

"It is me, your friend," I added, though my intentions were far from friendly.

She reached for the door handle. I could feel my blood rising.

"Soon... soon we will be together," I whispered.

The door slid open. Her scent reached my nostrils... she smelled of virtue and passion... and bacon...

Bacon?

I woke to the smell of bacon frying. Don't get me wrong, I'm partial to a bit of bacon in the morning. But to wake up to the heavy tang of bacon suffusing your bedroom? Not so much.

My first thought of the day was: what kind of moron puts bacon into the pan with the fan off and the bedroom door open?

The answer came slowly, but when it finally dawned, it hit me like a twelve-inch dildo up the ass: someone without any kitchen skills at all, someone like Christina.

The events of yesterday rushed back into my mind.

Christina with a knife in her hand. Christina on the floor, whimpering as I held her down. Christina being half dragged by her hair into the bedroom. Christina being hogtied. Christina having her dress cut off her bound body. Christina having her torn panties stuffed into her mouth. Christina being taught how to obey – she had been a good student. But then again I was a good teacher, putting her through plenty of exercises. Christina, leashed to the bed, giving me head like her life depended on it. Christina, swallowing every last drop, looking expectantly at me as she did so: did I get my A+, master?

Right. No. Right. Shit.

I hadn't tossed her out. I really should have, but I hadn't.

She still had her bra, her shoes, and her winter coat. I could have kicked her out, none the worse for wear. Didn't need panties under that coat. No one would know.

Instead, I had gotten myself another beer, taken a second shower – discipline is hard work – and a bite to eat. I had taken my time. Not like she was going anywhere. Still bound to the bed.

But then, rather than kick her out, I had, for some insane reason, gone into my home office space and made her a diploma on the computer. It said: Christina, Oral and Practical Exam, A+.

I untied her and gave her the diploma. So. Fucking. Stupid.

Why the hell hadn't I just tossed her out? Was it her adoring little puppy eyes? The knowledge that she would really do anything to satisfy my darkest desires? Or did I have a soft spot for the crazy whore? Sorry, that was ill said. She wasn't a whore, she'd never demanded payment. Crazy slut is the right term.

I hadn't tossed her out. Instead, I let her stay the night. Where did all the firm and unyielding Master Felix stuff disappear to?

And now she was up, and by the smell of it, cooking me breakfast. Well, cooking was an overstatement, she had no cooking skills whatsoever, but you get the point.

I should have gotten out of bed, tell her to get lost, and that would be that. Should have fixed yesterday's lapse of judgment before it got out of hand.

I totally should have done that.

But I didn't.

I had woken up sporting a monstrous hard-on (something to do with my dream, I guess). Thinking about last night's session hadn't exactly made it shrink. Now my dick craved attention and wasn't shy to show it. I would probably have to jerk off just to be able to take my morning piss.

I couldn't tell Christina to get lost, not with a straight face, not looking like that.

I tried to envision the scene. "Hello, Christina, thank you for yesterday. Your throat feeling OK? You really didn't need to go that far, you know, but it was really nice. Oh, and by the way, could you jerk me off before I throw you out?"

No. No way I could do it.

I heard the clicking of Christina's heels. I had to think of something. Only I couldn't. My mind was one big blank.

I lay back and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

I watched her enter the bedroom through nearly-closed eyes. She was wearing her shoes and her bra – the only two items of clothing, save her winter coat, I hadn't ruined – plus a little apron I didn't know I owned. She was quite the sight; I can tell you that. Perfect mix of slim and toned, in her outrageous heels, her new boobs begging to be groped at through the black lace. My cock was positively throbbing by now.

Seeing my plight – there was no fucking way she could have avoided spotting it – she got rid of the apron, pulled the sheets to the side, grabbed my dick with deft fingers, and with a practiced motion she impaled herself on it.

She was warm, wet – and more than willing. She rode me, slow and steady to begin with, then with ever greater intensity.

At some point, I couldn't fake sleep anymore. I opened my eyes and smiled. I actually smiled at her. What the fuck was I thinking?

Any hope of getting rid of Christina disappeared right then and there, so I just went with it. Grabbed her butt, groped her tits, rubbed on her still-sore clit. I think I even fingered her a little in the a-hole.

I took a long time coming – I'm always slow in the morning – but the end result was very nice. My face was burning, and my fingers tingled.

Afterward, I had a breakfast of espresso, orange juice, toast – and badly burned bacon. I took it standing by the kitchen counter. Christina – her apron back on – was down on her knees, apologizing for ruining the bacon.

I was even later for work than usual, so I had to get going. Not knowing what to do with Christina, I just left her back at the apartment.

One part of me hoped she would just be gone by the time I came back.

The other part – the one centered on my groin – hoped she would make a mess out of dinner.

What can I say?

I'm an idiot is what.