Rent A Cabin On A Lake
- 4 years ago
- 35
- 0
The Cabin By The Lake free porn video
My husband Abe had been gone for six weeks when Jake came to live with me. Abe had gone hunting on a cold December morning to add to our supply of meat for the winter. We lived in our remote cabin by the lake for our entire marriage struggling to return to nature like our forefathers endured for generations. We were surviving the brutal winter of 2014 – 2015 at our one-bedroom Lake Indian cabin nestled in the Adirondacks, about 25 feet from the water. We had stored plenty of food to survive the winter, but Al always wanted to replenish the supply of meat and fish whenever the weather was permissible.
It was the day before Christmas, a Wednesday morning before dawn when he kissed me good-bye as I lay in our narrow but warm bed. He had kindled the fire and brought in a fresh supply of dried split wood, enough to keep the cabin warm for about ten hours. He promised to return before 2PM because the radio report predicted a major front was coming in that would drop the temperatures to well below zero again for the tenth time since December 1st. It was one of the very shortest days of the year, and sunset would occur about 4:20P. Soon after he left dressed in his warmest clothing carrying his double-barrel shotgun I decided to gather more wood so Abe wouldn’t need to work until dark after a hard day lumbering through the deep snow.
Amazingly, the hours fly in the small cabin with all the chores that need doing every day, as I viewed the beautiful ice-covered lake from my single small window looking towards the lake. I wasn’t particularly surprised when he was still out hunting at 3 PM, but by 4 PM when the sky starts to darken up here in the north country I was concerned. Abe was always punctual when he told me the time he would return from his trips looking for food. With the deep snow cover and a clear night, the temperature kept dropping, and the radio was forecasting 30 degrees below zero in our area. I was beginning to doubt he was coming home that night. The only good news was that the moon was bright and vision was outstanding as I peered from the only cabin window.
Abe didn’t come home that night, or the next, and I knew he would never return. Survival was impossible as the temperature never rose to ten below zero for the next ten days. Here I was, a twenty-three-year-old 110-pound weakling facing life alone in the north woods. I was unsure that I could survive alone until spring, but I was reminded of Abe saying, ‘Trish, you may be small, but you’re strong and you are a survivor.’
I was thinking that if Abe, a giant of a man at 6’3 and 210 pounds couldn’t survive how could I expect to live through this life of despair and loneliness. I missed him from the moment I woke in the morning until the moment I cried myself asleep, and there was no one to help ease my pain. Our nearest neighbors were two miles away but they had the good sense to leave in October after the leaves changed. No one lived up here on the lake during the winters, and generally, they didn’t return until mid-May, and then it was only for an occasional weekend.
It wasn’t that I loved Abe, he was the only person in my life up here in the desolate icebox during the winter months. I had no one to speak with at all save a bird or squirrel that foraged for seeds on bright winter days. I had become accustomed to Abe, because he was my only choice to share my thoughts, wants, and desires. Frankly, the desires were mostly Abe’s, because he treated me as a child, and he wasn’t interested in my thoughts or yearnings. He decided exactly what we did when we did it and how we did it. I was there to satisfy his needs, which included cooking, cleaning, carrying in the firewood and whatever sexual appetite he had at any particular instant in time. He was unpredictable, and there were times he was a gentle lover, but that was infrequent and generally after he injured my body the last time we had sex.
I didn’t expect to see anyone for at least three months and I had no way out of here. No mail, no electric, no computer, no iPhone, and no running water. But I had plenty of food and wood to burn for heat. It was going to be a long dismal winter, but I knew I could survive. I felt like a captive up here in this God’s forsaken cold country without even a companion to speak with. Being honest, our marriage was already on the skids. I wanted out of this desolate life alone for months on end with only a man I didn’t love.
Abe was a good man in some respects. He kept me well fed within a dilapidated summer cottage, but there never was the love I had planned. The idea of homesteading was my romance, but it wore thin within two months and I longed to leave. Question was, where could I go? My family hated Abe and disowned me when the Justice of the Peace secretly married us. Mom and dad understood more than I about the life I was pledging myself to live. As I look back, I know they had good reasons to reject Abe. He had been a troubled youth and found himself in trouble many times including a two-year stint in prison. Additionally, he was twelve years my senior and had been married twice before with a wife abuse charge that landed him in the penitentiary.
I was young and alive when I was with him in Albany, and I couldn’t wait to find someone to take me away from Albany. I think I would have run away with anyone. I must admit that Abe never hurt me severely physically in ways that I didn’t recover within a few days, but he had rules that I always obeyed because I knew the consequences if I didn’t. He always warned me what would happen if I disobeyed, so I walked the line as he drew it.
It was hard to look attractive with bruise marks on my petite body, and keeping my long blond hair looking good without softer water and modern appliances and shampoos is impossible. There was no hair dryer or even a curling iron from days past in our cabin. I was always physically fit and quite popular with the men, but I ended up with the only one that ever mistreated me. Abe had this sadistic desire to hurt me mentally and physically as he would tell me what he planned to do when he returned after a day in the wild looking for food. I was unable to wear a bra because of his desire to come up behind me and grab by small breasts and pinch or squeeze them until I cried. Apparently, he received some sort of sexual gratification from my pain.
When he didn’t arrive back to the cabin by Christmas morning I knew one of two things happened. He was either dead or decided to leave for greener pastures. I believed he was dead because he never dropped subtle signals of being discontented. He controlled our sex life completely and he received whatever he needed whenever he wanted because I knew the penalty for rejecting him. The only considerate thing he ever really did was to keep me from getting pregnant due to having a vasectomy during his second marriage. I am incredibly thankful for that wonderful gift. His sexual appetite was not curtailed by his inability to father children, and he was particularly inconsiderate when he wanted sexual attention when I was sound asleep in the middle of the night. Often he awakened me by pinching my breasts or my labia until I realized he wanted sex. These pinches left black and blue marks that lasted a week or longer. If only he wanted normal sex like most husbands desired, it was too often brutal and long-lasting.
When he was out hunting, I wondered why he was so hurtful and unrepentant after he finished abusing my small body. He was tall and powerful and there was nothing I could do to combat his aggressive behavior. Deep inside I wondered if he was dissatisfied with his own body and took it out on me because my body was more beautiful in his eyes. His physic was admirable with long powerful arms and legs. I knew the one deficit that could anger him because I had been with several men before I met him. Though he was the tallest and most powerful, his male endowment was the smallest I had seen for a huge man.
That’s not to say it mattered because his
penis was sensual and adequate when he was kind, and I had no problem with his lovemaking until we left civilization and shared the tiny cabin in this God forsaken winter wonderland by the beautiful mountain lake. I could think of no other reason for his aggressiveness and determination to hurt me unless he wrongly believed his cock was too small to satisfy my needs to loudly climax and proclaim his masculinity. Now that he was gone, I was confident he had an inferiority complex about his manhood and never realized that most women are not all that impressed by penis size.
At least he allowed me a few days when my monthlies came, but that didn’t prevent him from expecting brutal oral sex when he deep-throated me until my throat became sore and I was hoarse the next day. He enjoyed playing with my large breasts, and I liked it for the first few minutes when he was reasonably gentle, but soon he would suck so hard I would get blood blisters all over the nipple areas, and that’s not the worst of his painful sex demands. Often he would leave deep teeth marks that cut through the skin that was painful and slow to heal.
I never initiated sex because it always became painful before he finished ravishing my small well-shaped body. What started out feeling good usually finished with wounds that were slow to heal and ugly to see. It’s hard to explain why I missed him, and frankly, I knew it was because I had no one else to be my friend or defender. He was all I had, and there was no way out of this inhospitable living situation, at least until winter broke, and that was months away.
Before I met Abe, I was sexually active with several men, and I enjoyed sex with more men than I should have, but I loved the intimacy and the feelings they and I experienced. There wasn’t anything kinky and even Abe never abused me, until he took me to the cabin by the lake. These other men were always gentle and appreciative for the times we spent together, and none had plans to be more than my sexual partner on occasion. I was happy with the arrangement until Abe suggested we marry and move to the cabin.
I was looking forward to spring’s arrival in early February when another blizzard blew in from the northwest dropping the temperature again to -10 degrees. I worried I would go crazy in this small cabin as I waited for better weather when I could leave the cabin for more than hauling wood for the fire. There was nothing to read, no one to talk with, and I missed my father who was more understanding than my self-righteous mother that I loathed. I had no idea where I would go, but I was planning to leave in late May or early June after the ice went out of the lake, but an event I considered highly unlikely occurred that changed my life forever.
I was awakened by a large crash coming from the front porch, and after peering through the circular glass peephole Abe had inserted into the heavy wooden door, I could see someone lying on the wood deck with frozen blood all over his snow covered winter clothing. Dawn was breaking when I opened the cabin’s door and found Jake unconscious. It was obvious he was near death, as he lay motionless outside the only cabin door. His face, neck, and head were completely covered with a ski mask and it was crystal clear I had to move him or step on him to get around his position that had his upper torso on the porch with his legs and feet hanging down over the two steps and touching the frozen snow-covered ground. His apparel was top quality Artic hiking gear for cold weather, and I saw a backpack which he had apparently dropped about a hundred yards from the cabin on the ice-covered lake as he was making his way towards my cozy cabin.
I really had no place in the cabin to store a corpse so my first thought was to lift his legs and feet onto the small stoop, at least until I could make a permanent decision that he was dead, but when I started to lift his legs he made a barely audible groan. I knew I needed to change my mind and get him into the cabin and use whatever nursing skills I still had to save the man’s life. I knew his chances to live were poor, but I was a registered nurse with little actual experience. I worked in the county hospital in Albany for less than one year when I took off with Abe to a seldom before seen winter where the tundra-like conditions seemed to never end.
Jake was dead weight as I tried to move him inside the cabin. Blood from his wounds was frozen to the wood, and only after great difficulty was I able to tug him inside the comparatively warm cabin to the center of the room in front of the wood-burning stove. Removing his outer clothing was difficult as the zippers were frozen with blood, and I couldn’t cut them free for he would have no other clothes. After rubbing the zipper with my fingers and a towel soaked in warm water, the red icy zipper thawed, and I was gradually able to remove his coat and trousers. It was apparent he had a bad upper leg/thigh injury as I removed layer after layer of winter clothing.
As I removed his clothing, I found a pistol and bullets in his right pocket and a sandwich in the right. Thankfully, although he had lost a serious amount of blood by what appeared to be a gunshot, the remainder of his body was intact, though extremely cold. When I removed clothes that touched his skin I wrapped the areas with dry cloths. I saved his undershorts for last because I was fearful his wound was in the groin and probably fatal with no better help than I could provide in this one room cabin.
I added more wood to the fire to heat the cabin quickly, and I rubbed slightly heated water on his skin to warm his body. The severe injury had stopped bleeding, but as the blood was cleaned away and his body warmed, it started to bleed again. As I cleaned the wound it was obviously from a bullet that entered his leg about one inch below where the right leg joined the body trunk and exited the leg very near the buttock. The wound had a small entrance puncture where the bullet entered his body with a larger exit hole probably three times the entry size. His entire groin area was covered in dry blood which I gently cleaned until it was all removed.
I decided the only place to lay him was in my bed, but I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to hoist him onto the bed, and if I did I feared the blood would start gushing from the wound. After consideration, I applied a tourniquet in the small place above the injury and dragged him to the bed. He weighed nearly 170 pounds but I was able to lift him off the floor in steps, placing objects under his back and then his legs until I could manage the last foot by lifting onto my small bed. Only after he was safely in my bed did I examine the gun, and sure enough, one cartridge had been fired. A hole was in the left pant’s pocket, and two blood-soaked openings matched the wounds in his wounded leg.
Fortunately, his bleeding was very minor, and I was beginning to believe I could save his life though he was still completely unconscious. I applied copious blankets to help warm his entire body, but now I had to decide how to handle the wound itself. I was concerned that it would become infected and other than some Mercurochrome, I had nothing to treat his leg. All I could do was keep it clean now that the bleeding stopped. I began to check Jake out for frostbite issues, but remarkably what few signals he had were minor thanks to his quality arctic clothes and the ski mask that protected him.
The first day I continuously worked on his entrance and exit wounds and considering the location and the size of the exit, things were going quite well. Jake never made a move in his unconscious state. The next day he was looking better and about noon he started to make some slight movements and opened his eyes two times in my presence. It was my judgment that keeping the wound open was better than bandaging, and I did my very best to keep it clean every thirty minutes or so.
He was awake at three o’clock and I was able to spoon-feed him some beef broth when he spoke his fi
rst words. ‘I need to pee.’ I knew this was going to happen and I prepared a small cooking pan for him to use. Before we started the process I explained that he had a wound near his penis and it was very important to carefully urinate into the container. I asked him to try to release it gradually, and that I would hold his penis inside the container. He agreed, and I was surprised how well this little homemade teapot worked.
My nurse training should have provided a better way to observe Jake’s long thick penis and compare it to Abe’s comparatively short thin cock. For a much smaller and more slightly build man I was amazed at the difference. I knew it often happened, but I was surprised that Jake was near twice the flaccid size as Abe. My loins ached with the knowledge that I was nursing a man to health that could become my companion and perhaps lover until spring arrived, and I knew he could help me leave this loneliness behind. At the very minimum, I would have someone to converse with as we endured the long winter nights if I could only nurse him back to health. Selfishly, I wanted him to live because I needed him to help me survive the winter.
Obviously, my concern was the first time Jake needed to make a bowel movement, but I had another twenty-four hours to prepare, and by then the wound was improving. There was just the one bed in the house and I needed to get some sleep after treating him for 36 hours straight, so I shared the bed with him. Every day became easier and easier as his wound slowly healed, but after three days he started eating solid food and after seven days he was able to get out of bed to do his bowel movements alone, even though I continued to help him as he urinated.
By the time Jake arrived, my tortured breasts were nearly healed, but I kept them covered day and night until there were absolutely no marks or bruises on either. I didn’t want Jake to know I was abused to the point I was embarrassed because I knew many people believe women enable this type of behavior. These inflictions were not some form of pleasure, but for me they were painful and I had no recourse other than bearing the insidious treatment.
As I nursed Jake back to health, I began to trim my hair and spend more time attempting to be more attractive. I went from shoulder length frizzy strands of uncontrollable blond curls to hair only long enough to be feminine. Not only was it easier to care for, the reflection in our small mirror announced I succeeded. Jake noticed the change of style and quipped he thought I had a good hairdresser. After that, I washed and cut his hair and shaved his dark stubble after I cleaned his body and treated his wounds.
After about a week I noticed he was getting erections when I cleaned his wounds and groin area, but I didn’t say anything even though I found myself getting excited with an apparent virile man in my lonely cabin. In two weeks he was up and about, and by then he had updated me on who he was: Jake Levinson, a medical student at Cornell University. When Jake was recovered enough to discuss his accident, I learned that Jake tripped over the slippery log and his gun discharged when he landed on a stump. Apparently, the gun’s safety was in the off position by mistake.
Jake admitted he bought the gun recently and had never shot it before the accidental discharge. He said he had hiked this area before and was about to turn back towards his truck when he fell and felt this terrible pain in his leg. He said he didn’t even recall hearing the gun discharge, and because it was a .22 short caliber cartridge instead of a hollow-point or a larger caliber pistol his life was spared. As soon as he looked toward the pain he knew what happened and attempted to stem the blood flow as much as possible before he headed across the lake to my cabin.
Eisley
- 22.09.2020
- 28
- 0
