Cabin Fever Between the Pines

The truck’s wipers squeaked against the windshield, fighting a losin’ battle against the downpour. Gravel crunched under the tires as Ben pulled up to the fishing cabin, a squat cedar structure tucked against a wall of pines. The lake was a gray smear beyond the trees, churned to whitecaps by the wind.

Marcus stretched in the passenger seat, his broad shoulders straining the seams of his flannel. “Hell of a storm. Good thing we’re not actually in a tent.”

“Told you I had a better idea,” Ben said, killing the engine. His heart was already thumping harder than it should’ve been. He’d been planning this for weeks, ever since Demi had given him that knowing smile and told him to have fun. She knew exactly what “camping with Marcus” meant. She’d even helped him pack.

They hauled their gear inside as thunder cracked overhead. The cabin was one room, really—a kitchenette along one wall, a stone fireplace opposite, and a big iron-framed bed shoved into the corner. A pile of split cedar waited by the hearth. Ben got a fire going while Marcus cracked open two beers and surveyed the place.

“Cozy,” Marcus said, his deep voice carrying that easy confidence Ben had always found magnetic. “Plenty of room to ride out a storm.”

“Plenty of time, too.” Ben took his beer and clinked the neck against Marcus’s. “Forecast says this thing’s gonna sit on us all night.”

They settled into the worn leather chairs by the fire, talking about nothing important—work, the game last weekend, the one that got away on their last actual fishing trip. But the air between them was charged, thick with the thing neither of them was sayin’ yet. Marcus’s eyes kept drifting over Ben’s body in a way that made Ben’s skin prickle.

“You seem different tonight,” Marcus said, tipping his bottle back. “Antsy.”

Ben laughed, but it came out shaky. “Maybe I am.”

“Oh yeah?” Marcus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The firelight carved shadows into the muscles of his forearms. “Why’s that?”

Ben set his beer down and stood up. His hands were trembling, but not from nerves—from anticipation. He’d been waiting all goddamn day for this moment, every minute of the drive up, every second of pretending this was just a normal fishing trip.

“I’ve got somethin’ to show you,” Ben said.

Marcus’s eyebrows lifted. “That right?”

Ben pulled his henley over his head and dropped it on the chair. Then he unbuckled his jeans and shoved them down, kicking them aside. He stood there in the firelight, bare except for his socks, and watched Marcus’s face as the man took in what he was seeing.

A black silicone butt plug sat snug in Ben’s ass, the flared base visible between his cheeks. And around his cock—his average, already half-hard cock—was a clear plastic cage, locked tight. He’d been wearing both since six that morning.

Marcus was silent for a long moment. Then he let out a low whistle.

“Well, fuck me,” he murmured. “You’ve been walking around with that in all day? While we loaded the truck? Drove up here?”

“Every second,” Ben said, and his voice came out breathier than he intended. “Thought about you the whole time. What you’d do when you found out.”

Marcus rose from the chair like some big predator uncoiling. He was taller than Ben, broader, his athletic build making Ben’s average frame look almost slight in comparison. He circled around behind Ben, and Ben felt those big hands settle on his hips.

“You been a busy little slut, haven’t you?” Marcus’s breath was hot against Ben’s ear. “All day with this plug in your pussy and your little clit locked up, just waiting for me.”

Ben’s knees nearly buckled. The words hit him like a physical blow, exactly the kind of dirty talk he’d been fantasizing about for months. His cock strained uselessly against the cage, a dull ache that only made him want more.

“Say it,” Marcus growled, one hand sliding down to cup Ben’s ass, fingers brushing the base of the plug. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to use my pussy,” Ben gasped. “Want you to treat me like your fucking whore.”

Marcus laughed, low and dark. “That’s my good boy.”

He steered Ben toward the bed, pushing him face-down onto the mattress. The old iron frame creaked under their combined weight. Marcus knelt behind him, still fully clothed, and Ben felt the rough denim of his jeans against his bare thighs.

“Gonna take this plug out now,” Marcus said, and his fingers found the base, wiggling it gently. “Gonna see how ready that pussy is for me.”

Ben buried his face in the quilt and moaned as Marcus worked the plug free with agonizing slowness. The stretch of it, the wet pop as it came out, left him feeling empty and desperate. He heard Marcus set it aside, then felt thumbs spreading his cheeks wide.

“Look at that,” Marcus breathed. “Pretty little hole, all slick and ready. You been keeping it wet for me all day?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

Marcus didn’t answer with words. Instead, Ben felt the wet heat of a tongue dragging across his hole, and he nearly screamed. Marcus ate his ass like he was starving for it, licking broad stripes and then spearing his tongue inside, while Ben writhed and whimpered beneath him. The cage around his cock was a constant, maddening pressure, keeping him from getting fully hard, keeping him aching.

“Please,” Ben begged, not even sure what he was asking for. “Please, Marcus, please.”

Marcus pulled back, breathing hard. “Please what? You want my fingers in your pussy? Want me to stretch you open?”

“Yes, god, yes.”

Two thick fingers pushed inside him, slick with spit, and Ben sobbed with relief. Marcus worked him open with a patience that bordered on cruelty, scissoring his fingers, curling them just right, while Ben pushed back against his hand like an animal in heat.

“You take it so good,” Marcus said, and there was genuine admiration in his voice beneath the dominance. “Such a good little pussy. Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

He pulled his fingers out and Ben heard the clink of his belt buckle, the rasp of a zipper. Then Marcus was flipping him over onto his back, and Ben got his first look at what he’d been waiting for.

Marcus’s cock was huge—thick and long and already slick at the tip, curving up toward his belly. Ben had seen it before, had sucked it before, but it still made his mouth water every time. Marcus stroked himself slowly, looking down at Ben’s caged, leaking dick with a smirk.

“Look at that little clit trying so hard,” he said, and he reached down to flick the tip of Ben’s cock through the cage. Ben jerked like he’d been shocked. “So cute. Does it ache? Does it want to get hard so bad?”

“It hurts,” Ben whined. “Hurts so good.”

“Yeah, I bet it does.” Marcus climbed onto the bed, settling between Ben’s spread thighs. He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against Ben’s stretched hole. “You ready for this dick, baby?”

“Fuck me. Please fuck me.”

Marcus pushed in, and Ben’s world narrowed to that single point of pressure and stretch and fullness. Marcus was big enough that it always took a moment, always made Ben feel like he was being split open. But the plug had done its job, and Marcus sank in to the hilt with one long, smooth thrust that punched the air from Ben’s lungs.

“There you go,” Marcus groaned, his hips flush against Ben’s ass. “Taking all of it. Such a good pussy.”

He started to move, and the cabin filled with the sound of skin on skin and Ben’s desperate, high-pitched moans. Marcus fucked with a steady, punishing rhythm, each thrust driving deeper than the last. He leaned down and caught Ben’s mouth in a rough kiss, all teeth and tongue, swallowing the noises Ben was making.

“Love your mouth,” Marcus muttered against his lips. “Love your tits, too.”

His hands found Ben’s chest, squeezing the modest muscle there, thumbs rubbing circles around Ben’s nipples until they were hard peaks. Ben arched into the touch, overwhelmed by sensation—the cock in his ass, the hands on his chest, the cage keeping him trapped in a state of desperate, aching arousal.

“Play with my tits,” Ben begged, and Marcus laughed.

“Yeah? You like that? Like when I play with these pretty little tits while I fuck your pussy?”

He pinched both nipples hard, and Ben cried out, his caged cock twitching and leaking a thin stream of pre-come onto his belly. Marcus kept fucking him through it, relentless, his pace never faltering.

“Gonna make you come like this,” Marcus said, his voice strained now, losing some of its controlled edge. “Gonna make your little clit spurt while I’m buried in your pussy. You want that?”

“Want it, want it, want it,” Ben chanted, barely coherent.

Marcus pulled out suddenly, and Ben whined at the loss. But Marcus was just repositioning, hauling Ben’s legs up over his shoulders, folding him nearly in half. When he pushed back in, the angle was devastating, hitting something inside Ben that made white sparks dance behind his eyes.

“Right there?” Marcus grinned down at him, sweat dripping from his brow. “That the spot?”

Ben couldn’t answer. He could only hold on as Marcus pounded into him, the iron bed frame shrieking in protest, the storm outside rattling the windows. The pressure in his caged cock was building to something unbearable, something that felt like it might shatter him entirely.

“Touch your clit,” Marcus ordered. “Rub that little thing while I fuck you.”

Ben’s hand flew to his cage, fingers working through the bars to stroke the trapped, sensitive flesh. It was almost too much—the dual stimulation, the fullness in his ass, Marcus’s dirty words still ringing in his ears.

“Gonna come,” Ben gasped. “Marcus, I’m gonna—”

“Do it. Come on your little clit like the slut you are.”

Ben’s orgasm ripped through him like the lightning outside, white-hot and all-consuming. His cock pulsed in its cage, shooting ropes of come through the bars and onto his stomach, his chest, even his chin. He screamed Marcus’s name until his throat was raw, his body clenching rhythmically around the thick cock still buried inside him.

The sensation pushed Marcus over the edge. With a guttural roar, he slammed deep and held there, and Ben felt the hot flood of his release filling him up. Marcus pumped into him through the aftershocks, each spasm drawing a fresh moan from both of them.

Finally, Marcus collapsed on top of him, and for a long moment they just lay there, panting, tangled together in the sweaty sheets. The fire had burned down to embers, casting the cabin in a soft orange glow.

“Holy shit,” Ben managed.

Marcus laughed weakly against his neck. “Yeah. That about covers it.”

They cleaned up slowly, lazily, using a couple of towels from Ben’s duffel bag. Marcus unlocked the cage with the key Ben had left on the nightstand, and Ben hissed as his cock finally sprang free, oversensitive and chafed but deeply satisfied. Marcus rubbed some lotion into the red marks the cage had left, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“You okay?” he asked, and the dominant edge was gone from his voice, replaced by something softer.

“Better than okay.” Ben leaned into him, letting Marcus wrap those big arms around him. “That was… exactly what I needed.”

They crawled back into bed, and Marcus pulled the quilt over both of them. The storm was still going outside, but it felt distant now, just background noise. Ben rested his head on Marcus’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

“Demi’s gonna want details,” Ben murmured.

Marcus snorted. “She’s probably already texted you six times.”

Ben glanced at his phone on the nightstand. Sure enough, there was a string of messages from Demi, the latest one reading: *You two better not be just fishing. Also, Bonnie says hi and wants to know if Marcus still has that thing he does with his tongue.*

Ben laughed and showed the screen to Marcus, who grinned.

“Tell her the tongue thing is alive and well,” he said. “And that we’ll give her a full report when we get home.”

Ben typed out a quick reply—*Storm’s pretty wild up here. Had to find ways to stay warm*—and then set the phone aside. Tomorrow they’d actually do some fishing, maybe cook the trout they caught, be domestic together in the quiet of the cabin. But tonight was for this: the warmth of the fire, the weight of Marcus’s arm across his back, the pleasant ache in his body that would remind him for days exactly how thoroughly he’d been fucked.

“Hey, Marcus?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks for coming up here with me.”

Marcus pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Wouldn’t have missed it. Even if the fishing’s probably gonna be shit with this weather.”

Ben smiled against his chest. “Some things are better than fishing.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

The fire popped and settled. Outside, the storm raged on, but inside the little cabin, everything was warm and quiet and exactly as it should be.