Chapter 1
The cabin that I just rented for the week is an ominous figure against the black sky. The owner said they would leave the lights on for me, but the only light in this creepy forest is spilling from the full moon overhead. Branches deep in the trees flutter, sending a chill down my spine and spurning me to finish the rest of the walk up the path to the little cabin.
I punch the code the owner gave me into the lockbox and take out the key. I really wish they were here to walk me through the place. My eyes wander over to the windows on either side of the front door. It’s just so…dark.
Last week, when I came up with the idea to rent a place to get some writing done in peace, it seemed like a great idea. But I didn’t really think this one through. Peace meanssecluded, and secluded meansfucking scary.
There’s rustling in the leaves behind me, and I quickly stick the key in lock, step into the cabin, and slam the door shut behind me. As scary as a dark, empty cabin in the middle of the woods is, beingoutsidea dark, empty cabin in the woods with mysterious wild animals is worse. I turn slowly, shocked by the starknessof the dark inside the cabin.
And yet somehow, the darkness doesn’t quite feel…still. It’s like the shadows are alive. With trembling fingers, I reach over to where a light switch makes the most sense and am relieved to find one. I flip it on, satisfied with the sight that greets me: a warm-looking living room, with a charming floral couch, antique furniture, and a soft yellow light.
Suddenly, it all just seems less scary.
Dropping my bag by the door, I decide I won’t write tonight. Not right away, at least. I deserve dinner first. I fish in the bag of groceries I brought for the pasta and sauce and head for the kitchen.
Everything is updated and very nice, which almost makes me feel guilty about how much I'm paying to stay here for the week. I definitely got a deal, and I’m not exactly sure why.
It was an impulsive decision, booking the cabin and taking a week off my day job to go into the middle of nowhere Montana to focus on my novel. So when I saw the price on this cabin come across my social media page, I jumped at it. But now that I’m here, I know I severely underpaid.
I make myself dinner, using the expensive dishes and cooking utensils provided and then decide to go back for the wine I bought. I didn’t intend to open it my first night here, but the creepiness of the darkness outside of the windows and the quiet of the cabin is making me think this whole experience might be a little more enjoyable if I was too tipsy to worry about whether or not I’m going to get murdered in this forest.
I read a book while I eat my pasta, and before I know it, I’m three glasses of wine in and feeling warm all the way down to my bones.
I push aside my dinner plate, completely engrossed in my book. I plant my elbows on the table, my stomach just as warm as the rest of me now. I bite my lip as the couple in my book starts taking their clothes off.
I can’t remember the last time I was naked with a man. It’s easily been over a year. Between work and the dismal state of men in New York, I haven’t had the energy to really put myself out there, no matter how many times my friends have tried to convince me to set up a Tinder profile.
Out of the corner of my eye, something shifts. I stop breathing. My eyes shoot to the corner of the dining room, where the warm light of the lamp above the table doesn’t quite reach. Right where the two walls meet, shadow bathes the wall.
There’s nothing there. Of course there’s nothing there. Did I think a serial killer was standing in the corner of the room the whole time I’ve been sitting here, and I just didn’t notice? I stare into the shadows until my eyes begin to water, and then I shake off the weird feeling and go back to my book. I’m just spooked. I should have known this was going to happen. It’s one thing to be alone in your apartment when you know you have neighbors on either side of you and walls so thin that everyone can hear you scream. It’s something else entirely to be in a cabin in the woods alone.
I’m just drunk. I’ve made it through almost half the bottle of wine, so it’s no wonder that things in the room are starting to move when they shouldn’t be.
On the page in front of me, the couple has started to go at it. I forget all about my fear and just start to feel horny instead. In the book, the hero starts to go down on the heroine, and I bite my lip. What I wouldn’t give for a little oral right about now.
The blood has started to pulse between my legs, and I immediately feel stupid for not bringing any toys with me. I was so excited about getting here and getting to work that I didn’t even think about the possibility that I might get here and feel the need to get off, a serious oversight on my part. I’m always desperate to get off these days, but I don’t have the time or thepatience half the time, and the other half of the time, it’s terribly unsatisfying.
I just want some fuckingdick.
I pour myself another glass of wine and focus on the scene unfolding before me. But with every passing sentence about this fictional couple, who are so sexually in-tune that she’s had about four orgasms already, I’m getting hotter and hotter. Of course, that might also be because I’ve now had three glasses of wine. I look at what’s left of the bottle. It’s not much, a quarter of it or less.
And then I take in the shape of the bottle, the long neck of it.
I look away from it quickly, as if it was just looking back at me. Holy shit, I can’t honestly be considering…
But now that I’ve given myself permission to even entertain the thought, I can’t seem to drown it back out, even when I start reading my book again. I mean, it’s not the most insane idea I’ve ever had. How different is it, really, to stick the neck of a wine bottle up in you than to use a dildo?
Guess I’m about to find out.
Tossing my paperback onto the table, I empty what’s left of the wine into my glass and then hold the bottle up. I’m getting wet thinking about sliding it inside of me. Something about the idea has me positivelyachingfor it. Aching so much, in fact, that I don’t even bother to move somewhere more comfortable. Right there at the dining table, I shove off my pants and underwear, kicking my way out of them with so much enthusiasm that I almost tip right out of my chair.
My eyes go to the big windows on either side of the room. I know I’m in the middle of nowhere and that there’s absolutely nobody around, but I still feel like I shouldn’t be doing this in front of uncovered windows. I feel like someone is watching me.
I get a chill up my spine, but I’m honestly so hot and bothered with my hand wrapped around the neck of this winebottle, that if someone wants to watch me then I guess they’re going to get a free show because I’m not stopping.
Hiking my feet up on the edge of the table, I spread my legs wide and position the end of the wine bottle against my entrance. I’m so turned on, I’m trembling. God, what is wrong with me? Who gets this hot over the idea of being impaled by a wine bottle?
As I sink the bottle into myself, I let my eyes fall closed, but I honestly don’t even know what I would fantasize about at this point. I don’t have some sexy ex or one that got away that I get off to. I usually just watch porn, but I don’t have internet access, and I’m sure my cell service isn’t good enough to stream videos out here.
