1 comments/ 9722 views/ 0 favorites A Refuge in Episodes Ep. 01 By: Varrus9696 For Cinner Most couples, when they consider vacations, envision the tropics and palm trees, time lazed away smelling of coconut and sunscreen, or travelling to wine country, tasting virgin vintages before their time, or bundling up in flashy gear to hit the slopes during the day and then hitting the clubs and hot tubs during the night. But this couple was different. Their vacations were not vacations but times of refuge, time to recharge, replenish, rekindle, recreate, and dream. Their refuge was not a posh hotel with valet service and concierge waiting to cater to their every whim. Their refuge was a simple, old, cottage, barely equipped with modern amenities, just the right place for them to rediscover each other. *************** The sky hung low and gray above their heads while a biting breeze cut through the deserted streets of the quaint sea-side village. Summer had long gone by and the cottages that bustled with guests just months before sat cold, dark, lonely, and forgotten until that time when the Earth once again turned it's face towards the sun's warming rays. The air was on the brink of being cold, dry despite the proximity of the sea, and for both of these factors the sounds of rushing waves upon the beach and the moments when the breeze exhaled into howling gusts along the deserted streets came clearly, crisply to their ears. They knew for dozens of cottages in any direction that they were alone, that they alone would venture to this place at this time of year. The cold, the wind, the gray, the solitude, the hidden populace that still lived amongst this winter-time ghost town, was what drew them to this place. This was their yearly ritual. For one month out of each year they escaped from the rest of the world, dropping completely off the radar, to spend the time that lovers around the world so desperately cherish. This was the most special of times for them because it was the harshness of the environment and solitude that allowed them to exist as if they were truly the last two lovers on Earth. They took other vacations where they basked in the sun or sipped on wine, but this was the vacation they both truly looked forward to each year. Not a vacation. Their refuge. They stood on the front deck of the little cottage that would be their home for the next month. It was a simple, one story building with weather-faded shingles and brown paint along the deck railings and floorboards. The windows, of which there were many, stood out against the weathered shingles in white frames of wood. There were many windows, far more than one would expect for a cottage of this size but it was these windows that, on days when the sun shone feebly through the cool clean air, lit the rooms of the cottage in a way no artificial light ever could. Curtains were drawn in all these windows now, sealing the interior from the world outside. Months before families had rented this cottage for weeks at a time throughout the summer and into the early autumn before the last of the tourists headed home. A caretaker had prepared the cottage for its short sojourn into winter before the couple would arrive for their refuge, the couple that would leave the building better than they had found it when they left so that when the sun once again came around, new waves of guests would be able to enjoy the quaint beauty of this little place. As was tradition, the man turned to his woman and gathered her into his arms, his face lowering to hers to commit the first of their many passionate kisses that would flood the days and weeks to come. They stood there, embraced and luxuriating in the shared heat and taste of the other's kisses. As he had each time before, the man swept his arms down the woman's body, one behind her legs and the other across her back, scooping her up into his arms to carry her into the little cottage. A gust of wind caught her long blonde hair and made it flutter like a thousand tiny golden ribbons, haloing her face as he brought her from the gray cold outside into the gray dark inside. The first time they had come here the woman had been uncertain about the time or the place for a vacation but, as with all things, she learned to trust his judgment, directions, and decisions implicitly. Perhaps those first tinges of uncertainty were linked with that first time being the very moment when they first met each other in person. They had spent months corresponding, talking through words and cards, gifts and pictures, until the time came when they both knew that all that remained for them was to take the leap of faith that would bring them into one another's arms or send them drifting apart into different seas and worlds and times. They had both been afraid that the spark and passion they shared across all those times of untouched caresses and unfelt kisses would not manifest when they stood eye-to-eye, afraid that the fairytale they shared in each other's mind could not exist in the reality of their worlds. But on that first occasion, as she stared into his deep brown eyes, felt the strength of his arms as he gathered her against his broad, strong chest, she had surrendered to him, knowing that all she had felt and thought and dreamed and imagined for them alone in her home was now real in his arms, that the passions she had for him in her mind were passions she held for him for real in her body and that he bore the same longings for her. Her blue eyes sparkled, glistening with hot tears of joy and relief at his first touches, the strength of his kisses, the taste of him lips, and the ease with which he lifted her from her feet and ferried her into this little cottage. As he had on the first day so long ago, today he carried her into the small master bedroom and laid her upon their bed and kissed her mouth with savagely gentle passion, a panther restrained but still capable of lettings its power and strength be known through the feeble walls of its prison. He covered her quickly with several heavy quilts that had been laid out special for their arrival, arranging her comfortably on the bed to warm against the cold of the unheated building while he set about bringing in their bags and turning on what modern conveniences there were available to them. She luxuriated beneath the heavy quilts and, despite still wearing her warm shoes, jeaned, sweater, and jacket, she did not feel suffocated by the blankets, rather comforted as a bird nestled down in its nest. Occasionally she would see him move past the doorway of the small bedroom as he brought the cottage to life for them, turning on lights here, lighting candles there, whisking open curtains, and firing up the propane gas water heater. The soft tinkle of jazz lit upon the air as the old radio was turned into one of the few stations that continued to broadcast in this sea-side community during it's off season. The low beats and smooth sound of saxophones, the warming embrace of the blankets, the heady anticipation of the days ahead, and the utter sense of comfort and security helped her eyelids to slowly flutter so that by the time he had finished bringing their refuge to life she lay sleeping quietly. A ghost of a smile hung on her face as he looked down at her with emotions that no words could properly convey. She was his angel, he was her satyr, she was his plaything and he was hers as well, she was the only one that could match him passion for passion, fire for fire, depravity for depravity and he the only one that could match her in each as well. In all the worlds and in all the times, they had almost never found one another – that one that so perfectly fit the other that they sometimes felt that they had been broken from the same whole. With her quietly, if unexpectedly, sleeping, he was able to begin the real preparations for their time alone in this old, cold, cottage by the sea. By the time she woke, everything was in place to begin their month of refuge in earnest. And it began with her waking to the sight of dozens of flowers surrounding her cuddled down form on their bed... A Refuge in Episodes Ep. 02 For Cinner The flowers were a stark contrast to the world she has so recently left. They were gaily colored and scented the air of sweetness and wilderness. Their very existence seemed to drive the gray world outside into the shadows, rendering it a memory, an impotent force behind the walls of delicate, colorful petals. How he had come by these flowers was a mystery but one she accepted happily and without question. So many times things had happened between them where she could find no way to rationally explain what he had done or how he had done it. As with her trust in him, she learned to accept these things as they happened, to accept them without question and to revel in them as a private gift for her alone as if bestowed by some secret house faeries. It took her several moments of smiling at the myriad colors about her to realize that he had removed her shoes while she slept, as well as her jacket, and the light woolen cap that had so feebly encapsulated her hair against the wind outside. The room was already warmer though it would never be as warm as it was during the summer days. That was one of the sacrifices to have the solitude of their refuge. She knew plenty of warmth would be generated in other ways and that the cold did magical, delicious things to her body when properly applied. The sky outside that had been dull gray upon their arrival now loomed as inky blackness beyond the window panes, night having fallen swiftly and silently as it did in this place at this time of year. Along with the walls of flower petals that kept the darkness and cold at bay a brace of candles and oil hurricane lamps doused the room in soft yellow light. She could still hear the jazz playing from the old radio and the sounds of her man puttering about outside the bedroom. She did not want to leave the comfort of her quilted flower cocoon but her appetites had grown while she slept and so, with a little sigh, she pushed the blankets from atop her and swung her feet to the ground. A pair of fur-lined house shoes waited and she slipped her dainty feet into them, enjoying their snug softness, capturing the heat left in her toes and socks. Though a woolen house coat hung from the back of the bedroom door, she was warm enough in her jeans and sweater to brave the other rooms without it. The main room of the cottage doubled as both a common living area and a dining area. A small table sat with four chairs before the double windows that opened upon the deck outside the front door. Opposite the windows, door, and table was an old but terribly comfortable sofa, draped with a white knitted throw and decorated with several small pillows. An end table at one end held another hurricane lamp and a small collection of books. She giggled to herself at the sight of these books. There as precious little time to read while they took their refuge but on those occasions that presented themselves, the books always played a delicious part in their time alone. She leaned against the frame of the bedroom door, watching him as he worked in the small kitchen opposite the bedroom on the other side of the common living and dining area. A pot on the stove steamed merrily away while a small saucepan simmered the scent of warmed butter through the air. A bottle of white wine sat uncorked at the edge of the counter and two glasses stood dutiful sentry, waiting to fulfill their purpose in existence. She cast a quick glance to her left down the one impossibly small hallway the led to the second of three small bedrooms and the small bathroom. This area of the cottage was still dark but she knew that he had been through these areas already while she slept, preparing them as with each room so that the entire cottage would be lived and loved in before their time here was up. "Did you rest well?" he asked as he stopped working in the kitchen to watch her. His smile and voice filled her with warmth and stirred her appetites more. "Of course, how could I not?" she replied as she walked to join him in the kitchen. It was warmer here, the steam and heat from the pots on the stove raising the temperature to a point that was almost uncomfortable in comparison to the rest of the cottage. She leaned into his kiss, her head tilted and mouth open in willing supplication. Her world shrunk in a fraction of an instant to the delicate pieces of flesh that touched upon their lips, electricity crackling between them with the intensity of the kiss. Their tongues caressed one another, adding another heady layer to her world of concentrated sensation. Her knees buckled and she sagged against him as one arm circled her back, drawing her against his chest, while the other caressed the soft skin beneath her sweater above the swell of her hips. His hands were warm and light on her skin as they moved beneath her sweater. When his one free hand cupped her heavy breast through its delicate lacy sheath she moaned deeply into his mouth and felt her most delicate and intimate of areas melt into molten stickiness between her thighs. This refuge, their time here in this place, was always like this for her, like another world, a world where every feeling, every sensation, every passion, was amplified and redoubled to the point where she simply did not think it possible to take any more. But she always did take more and did so willingly, greedily, and insatiably. The orgasm that ripped through her body came suddenly, exploding from her lips, across her tongue, across both her breasts, her erect nipples, down from her navel and into the minty sweet depths of her sex. His one hand had found her nipple through her bra and pinched it roughly at the same moment his other hand had slipped inside the back of her jeans and cupped her taut buttocks in his hand, the dual sensations triggering the orgasm. She had not even realized that he had unbuttoned her jeans while she slept so that when they embraced her clothes were rendered barely a barrier against his loving and skillful touches. She rode the spasms of her orgasm, her mind splintered into the sensations of her lips, her sex, her breasts, her buttocks, her nipples, her tongue. He continued to hold her and kiss her deeply as she came down from the orgasm with a shiver of delight. She broke their kiss and looked him in the eye before whispering in a lust-filled throaty voice, "Thank you." It was his turn to chuckle now. "I knew that was that you wanted first, most, from the way you kissed me. There will be plenty more later." He kissed her again, less deeply but no less passionately. "Why don't you pour the wine and have a seat?" She smiled mischievously back at him as their bodies separated. Making to button her jeans, she instead slipped her hand inside and reached down into her panties. They wear already soaked with her juices, ready to be tossed away, but time for that would come later. A groan escaped her lips as she ran two fingers down the length of her dripping sex, stopping to rub a few searing circles around her engorged clit, before slipping down to dip inside her body. She removed her fingers and brought them to his lips where his tongue flicked out to lap her arousal from them. Another shiver went down her spine and sparked another orgasm as her wet fingers slipped into his mouth, their eyes locked, hers pleading with excitement as his tongue moved over her fingers seeking to taste any drop of her nectar still on them. She thrilled at the power he had over her body and her mind, her appetites. Withdrawing her fingers from his mouth, she leaned forward, kissed him again, and this time did up the button on her jeans. A very clear spot of wetness spread across the crotch of her jeans and she luxuriated in the sensation of her wet panties rubbing against her sex as she took the bottle of wine and glasses and walked over to the table. He joined her a few moments later, carrying the large pot from the stove, removing the lid with a flourish of steam and the smell of cooked seafood flooding moistly into the air. Inside the pot were several steamed lobsters, the cold water lobsters of the northern coastal waters of their refuge, whose delicate white meat was as sweet and delicious as grapes plumped with rainwater and afternoons of radiant sunlight. Paired with the butter melted on the stove, the lobster was a delicate and decadent treat in which they indulged as part of their refuge ritual. He bent down to kiss her as she sat at the little table before the windows, pressing a pair of nut crackers into her hands. "Dig in, kitten," he said with a smile, knowing that this feast and their touches just moments before would only serve to make her appetites for him grow even more. She knew this too and, after taking a healthy drink of the delicious white wine, chose her first victim of the evening just as she knew she was already chosen as his... A Refuge in Episodes Ep. 03 For Cinner The lobsters' succulent white meat disappeared almost as rapidly as the shells lost the heat from their steaming. Almost as rapidly, she felt the effects of the wine filling her with warmth and bringing a delightful energetic fuzziness to her brain. While they did share wine and other spirits frequently, something seemed different with the wine in her glass that seemed never to empty. By the time she had downed her fourth glass she realized noticed the yellow lights of the candles and lamps flickering as mischievously in his eyes as the smile that graced his lips. "How is the wine?" he asked in a casual voice, sipping from his glass of water. "It's wonderful," she replied hesitantly, realizing he had not touched his own glass, simply refilling hers as she emptied it. The buzz in her mind and body grew more intense as she said this. "It's different, is it a new" she asked in a puzzled voice. His widening grin told her that it was not and she realized what she thought he had done. "You bastard!" she blurted with a laugh. "You spiked the wine!" Her cheeks flushed pink from the wine and excitement of having fallen so easily into one of his little game-traps. Her nipples surged erect in anticipation, knowing that earlier playing would soon resume in earnest. "What's in it?" "Oh, just a little candy for you." She knew that meant only one thing – he had laced the wine with cocaine, her favorite occasional and recreational drug. She could feel the tell-tale surging of energy, the way that her heart beat faster, sending blood coursing through her body, speeding along the alcohol to moderate and subtly enhance the high. With a thrill of delight she swallowed the remainder of the glass, swirling it first around her mouth and across her tongue before letting it drain down her throat. She speared her last chunk of lobster after putting down her glass, exaggeratingly dipping it in the butter before bring it slowly to her lips, drips of the greasy yellow coating splattering across the simple table cloth, her sweater-bound breasts, chin, and lips. She smiled enticingly at him in challenge. The mischievous grin that had sat upon his face for the course of the meal disappeared as quickly as the wine had sluiced down her throat moments earlier. Slowly and deliberately he pushed his chair back from the table, patted his own lips with a linen napkin, and placed it across the cracked lobster shells on his plate, a dark cloud passing across his face. "When did I give you that sweater?" he asked her coldly, making her look down at the greasy wet spots of liquid butter she had created in her teasing last bite of lobster. Her own face paled in realization that she had perhaps picked the wrong instant or at least the wrong clothing in which to play her own teasing gambit. She cast her eyes down, shoulders tensing, head lowered in surrender of her sin. When she did not respond he harshly prodded her again with the biting tone of his voice. "Well? When did I give you that sweater?" She still hesitated, lower lip quivering at the rapid change in his mood and tone. He was no longer her mischievous playmate and lover. He was now her Master. When she spoke it was in a meek, tiny voice. "You gave this to me the first day we made love, Master." He did not nod, did not respond in any way to her statement, continuing to stare at her coldly. The sat as such as a minute crawled by, followed by another and yet another again. "Is that how you treat a gift to commemorate such a significant event?" She had not completely surrendered herself to him on the day they first made love, a marathon session of wet, messy, frenzied, scrumptious passion. At least she had not realized that she had surrendered herself completely to him on that day until much later. The sweater, intricately woven Irish wool dyed a passionate and irresistible red, he had told her when he gave it to her, symbolized the ardor they had shared and that they had sparked in one another. "I..." she whispered, eyes closing to hold back the tears of uncertainty that threatened to spill down her long lashes to her cheeks. Was his anger genuine? Or was it part of the game. The wine and cocaine flowing through her system confused her, quickening and dulling her thoughts at the same time as she sought the proper words. "I...I am..." He cut her response short, standing with a dismissive grunt that told her to be quiet. He stepped toward her and entwined his hand in her long hair, twisting it so that the locks wrapped around the back of his hand and back into his palm. A quick jerk brought her bounding to her feet, her chair tipping over in her haste as her scalp prickled with pain as he pulled her hair. Her head tilted back with the continued strain of his hand pulling her hair, her throat bared to him, pulse pounding in her neck veins. She kept her eyes closed, surrendering to his anger and disappointment. She knew her mistake had earned her a yet undetermined punishment. "Remove your jeans." His voice was low, a growl emanating from deep within his throat. She fumbled with the button and zipper, hands rushing to obey his command. With the fly flaps spread open she tried to slip the jeans over the swell of her hips and buttocks but found that she could not push them down far enough with him holding her hair and head erect. When she tried to speak, to tell him of her difficulty he cut her off, demanding more insistently that she remove her jeans. Struggling against the strain of her pulled hair, the fabric of the jeans, and the sumptuous curves of her own body, she managed to wriggle the jeans down past the middle of her thighs but not completely off. She whimpered when she realized she could push them down no further as long as he held her hair. A click of metal on metal came from near him, down at the level of her hips, and she felt the cold metal of a blade trace the soft, delicate skin of her exposed thigh before slipping upwards and under the thing band at the waist of her panties above her hip. The fabric parted with ease against the razor-sharp blade causing her panties to fall partially away from her body. She shivered, biting her lower lip, as he ran the point of the blade across her stomach just above the waist band of her panties before slipping it under the thin fabric above her other hip. With a quick flick the blade separated the fabric again and caused the front and back of her panties to fall open away from her body revealing her perfectly smooth, hairless and oozing sex. "You have ruined one of the most precious gifts I have ever given you." His voice was barely a whisper, forcing her to strain to hear while the cool air of the room met the hot flesh of her groin. "You must be taught...a lesson..." He ripped her panties roughly from between her thighs, the wet fabric slipping against her moistened thighs. She heard him inhale deeply and she could see through her closed eyes that he was breathing in the intoxicating scent of her aroused body. She imagined him sucking on the fabric and was startled instead to feel the wet fabric pressed roughly against her lips. Obediently and without thought her mouth fell open to accept her wet intimates as he stuffed them into her mouth. "You will not make a sound." He pulled her across the room to the small couch, making her shuffle and stumble as the half-removed jeans hampered her movement. She kept her eyes tightly closed as the taste of her sex filled her mouth and the scent of her arousal flooded her nostrils. Some women did not find their own scent or taste particularly exciting or special but tolerated it as a way to tease the men or women in their world. But not her. She loved the smell and taste of herself, often enjoying the taste of soaked panties filling her mouth while she masturbated or during love making. She could not help but suck her own juices from the fabric of her panties. The couch squeaked as he sat down upon it, pulling her head down with him as the level of his hand lowered as well. His hand continued to pull her hair, guiding her down lower until her stomach laid across the tops of his thighs, her legs trailing away from her in a tangle of jeans. Her swollen breasts hung heavy off the outside of one of his thighs and her bare ass thrust proudly into the air, goose bumps from arousal and cold decorating her tight buttocks. It was only then that he released her hair and she hung her head in relief from the pressure of his hand. He roughly pushed her jeans further down her thighs so that they bunched around her knees, allowing her to part her thighs just slightly. Her glistening sex peeked out from between her barely parted thighs below her round, full ass. A hot liquid dribbled onto the top of her ass and she realized that he was pouring melted butter over her ass. She fought against herself to prevent the moan of excitement and pleasure as the warm, slippery liquid dripped down her ass cheeks down her ass crack, over her tight asshole, and over her engorged labia before trailing down her thighs into her jeans. His hand began to rub in slow circles around her ass, first one cheek and then the other, coating her ass with melted butter, sliding his fingers up and down the length of her slit over her asshole between the lips of her sex and across her painfully erect clit. The mouth of the wine bottle pressed against her greased asshole, liquid spilling out and down her crack and sex and inside of her thighs. Though muffled by her panties, she still managed a yelp of surprise that was met almost instantly with a sharp, sudden smack against her exposed ass cheeks. "Silence!" A second stroke of his palm against her ass punctuated his command. She felt him parting her buttocks, exposing her asshole more clearly, allowing him more room, better access. He still spilled a small amount if wine when he pressed the mouth of the wine bottle against her hot hole. She sucked hard on her panties to stifle her moans and groans as he rotated the mouth of the wine bottle against her asshole, pressing inward with the strength of his hands. For a few moments she thought that the butter would not be enough but she gasped inwardly with pleasure as she willed her ass to dilate and accept the bottle into her body. He continued to rotate the bottle as he pressed it deeper into her, the neck flaring wider as the bottle slid deeper into her willing hole, the remaining wine coursing in to fill her. "Hold it," he whispered, forcing her to tighten her forced-open ass to clamp tightly against the hard neck of the bottle. The bottle was heavy and threatened to change position and harm her so he rested his free hand against the base of the bottle, pressing against the bottle to both steady it and prevent her from pushing it out with her powerful muscles. The third stroke against her ass was different, not his hand this time, instead a leather strap with two pads at the end that slapped together when the blow landed. Several more blows came in rapid succession, alternating from one cheek to the other, from the upper part of her buttocks down towards the spot where her ass and top of her thighs met. The skin blossomed red and stung with delectable pain. There was a pause as she felt more butter drizzled across her ass, dripping down around the bottle projecting from her ass and down her engorged lips. Her breath came faster, her mind narrowing in concentration to her stinging cheeks, her pulsating and dripping sex, and her violated asshole. He slowly pulled the neck of the bottle out of her ass, the muscle clenching back towards its normal size as the neck grew narrower but relief was not to come, at least not yet, as he did not remove the bottle, instead sliding it back deep inside her. He continued to use his free hand to fuck her ass with the bottle while his other hand rained another series of blows with the strap upon her tender ass. The strokes traveled across her ass cheeks and down the backs of her thighs, around towards the outsides of her buttocks near her hips. She could not help herself, she squirmed in pain and pleasure, in depraved lust and excitement for the violation off her body, the sumptuous abuse of her ass and buttocks. She could not hold back her whimpers and groans of pleasure as the blows continued to come and the bottle slid in and out of her ass, opening her ass wider as he pushed it a little deeper with each inward thrust. "Spit out your panties." She moaned with delight and release as her tongue pushed her panties from her oral cavity. Though he had not said it she knew he had granted her permission to break her barely contained sounds of pleasure. With her mouth free, she was able to lick her lips and open her mouth to pant and groan her excitement freely. The breaths came quickly in her excitement and changed to sharp gasped intakes of pleasure as the strap fell once again across her ass and the bottle plunged deeper into her ass. The sounds of her excitement sounded like those of a she-animal enjoying a well deserved kill. Then two things happened at once. The bottle popped out of her ass, her hole gaping at the sudden departure of the invading object and his hand found her sex. His thumb slipped easily between her sodden lips and into her hot pussy, his two forefingers of his hand sliding along her slit to her pounding clit. The combined sensation of the pad of his thumb rubbing against her G-spot and fingers roughly rubbing her swollen clit, the stinging of her buttocks, and the spasming winks of her closing asshole launched her into a powerful orgasm. Her cries of climax rattled with the windows of the small cottage as she screamed out the force of her orgasm. Hot jets of fluid sprayed from her pussy as she bore down with each spawn of her orgasm. Each powerful contraction of her orgasm caused a pulsing spurt of her cum to erupt from her pussy and forced a stream of wine from her asshole. The liquids combined, spreading over his hand and forearm as he manipulated her body, soaking her jeans, his thighs, the couch beneath them. Tears of relief poured down her cheeks as he continued to stroke her inside and out, bringing her to another shaking climax, more liquids spraying from her body in excitement. Her mind went numb, nothing else existing but the parts of her body that throbbed, pulsed, or gushed with arousal. Yelps and wails of pleasure poured from her mouth as he stroked her clit, her pussy, and as the fingers of his other hand slipped easily into her ass. One finger, a second, a third invaded her ass as she continued to cum, her sounds of excitement sounding like a throng of religious zealots speaking their devotionals in tongues of rapture, drowning out the squelching sounds of her wet, manipulated, enflamed sex...