Trapped Until Morning (FM)
- Kim
- 12 hours ago
- 5 min read
This short story explores power, anticipation, and slow control. If you enjoy erotic fiction that leans into tension and authority, you may also enjoy our other stories and guides centered on intimacy and desire.
The storm rolled in without warning that Friday night, turning the narrow dirt road to the lake into a rushing stream. Power lines snapped somewhere down the line, plunging the cabin into darkness except for the glow of the fireplace he managed to coax to life. He was alone, or so he thought. The place belonged to her, an old friend of the family who'd offered it as a quiet escape while he figured out what came next after university. She had always been kind in that effortless way, the kind of woman who could make a room feel smaller just by stepping into it. Mid-forties, dark hair that fell in loose waves when she let it down, eyes that saw too much and lips that curved like she was already three steps ahead.
He didn't hear her arrive Saturday evening over the rain hammering the tin roof. The door simply opened, letting in a gust of wet wind and the scent of pine and leather. She stood there in a trench coat dripping onto the floorboards, silk slip visible beneath where the coat had come open. She shook water from her hair and smiled.
"You didn't think I'd leave my favorite little helper stranded, did you?"
He stood frozen by the fire, towel around his neck from trying to dry off earlier. "I... I thought the roads were closed."
"They are." She closed the door, locked it, hung the coat on the hook. The slip clung to her in places the rain had soaked through. "Which means we're stuck. No distractions. No running away. Just us."
She poured two glasses of whiskey from the cabinet she knew better than he did, handed him one, then settled into the deep armchair facing the fire. The flames painted her skin gold. She crossed her legs slowly, the hem of the slip sliding up her thigh.
"Strip for me," she said. "Slowly. Let me see everything."
His hands shook as he pulled off the damp shirt, jeans, boxers. Naked in the warm glow, cock already thickening under her steady gaze. She sipped her drink, eyes roaming without hurry.
"Look at you. Already leaking just from being watched. So sweet."
She pointed to the thick rug between her knees. "Kneel. Hands behind your back. No touching yourself. No touching me. Not until I say."
He dropped to his knees. The fire warmed one side of his body while her presence warmed the other. She reached for the glass beside her, plucked an ice cube, and trailed it along his collarbone. Slow circles around one nipple, then the other. The cold made him gasp; the heat of her breath following it made him throb.
"Such sensitive little points," she murmured. "They tighten so prettily when I tease them like this."
She leaned forward, lips hovering close enough for him to feel the warmth without contact. His hips jerked once, involuntarily. She pulled back.
"No humping the air like a desperate puppy. Be good."
She set the glass down and slipped her hand beneath the silk between her thighs. He watched, helpless, as her fingers moved in lazy circles. The wet sounds carried over the rain. Her breath hitched softly.
"Mmm. my pussy is getting so slick thinking about how badly you want this. Feel how close I am already? I could come right now... but I won't. Not yet."
She built herself slowly, thighs trembling, then stopped. Pulled her hand free, glistening. She pressed two fingers to his lips.
"Taste."
He opened for her, tongue curling around the sweetness of her. She watched his eyes flutter closed.
"Good boy."
The teasing stretched. She made him stand so she could trace feather-light fingertips along the length of him. Never gripping. Just skimming veins, circling the head until pre-cum welled steadily. Every twitch earned a soft tsk.
"Look how swollen you are. Purple and aching. So pretty and completely useless right now."
She edged him like that for what felt like forever. Bringing him to the brink with barely-there strokes, then withdrawing the second his breathing turned ragged. She counted aloud sometimes.
"That's three... four... your balls are so tight, baby. Full and heavy. Bet they hurt in the best way."
She brought herself off twice while he knelt and watched. Once perched on the arm of the chair, grinding against her palm with slow rolls of her hips. Once stretched out on the rug, legs spread wide, fingers sliding deep while she narrated every flutter.
"Right there... oh yes... I'm clenching so hard around nothing. Imagine if this was your cock stretching me. But it's not. You haven't earned inside yet."
By her third edge, he was shaking. Voice wrecked. "Please... Baby, I can't... it hurts so good... please..."
She finally crooked a finger. "Come here. Between my legs. Lick. Slow. Make me come again, and maybe I'll think about letting you feel me."
He buried his face between her thighs like a man starved. Tongue circling her clit, sucking gently, following every shift of her hips. She gripped his hair, guiding him exactly where she wanted, rocking lazily against his mouth. When the orgasm hit her, she shuddered through it with a low moan of his name, thighs clamping around his ears. She didn't let him stop. Rode the aftershocks, grinding until she was sensitive and trembling.
Then she pushed him onto his back on the rug.
She straddled him, silk slip hiked to her waist, hovering just above his straining cock. The heat of her brushed the tip.
"Beg nicely."
The words spilled out broken and filthy. "Please Baby... need to be inside you... need to fill you... been so good... please..."
She sank down one torturous inch. Stopped. Rocked shallowly, letting him feel slick heat without giving him depth.
"Feel that? How tight my pussy is? You're so close... but hold it."
She rode him in slow, shallow strokes. Never enough. Building him higher while she chased her own pleasure again. When he was trembling on the edge, balls drawn tight, she finally took him deeper. One long, deliberate slide until he was buried to the hilt.
"Now," she whispered against his ear. "Give it all to me. Come inside me. Fill me up like the good boy you are."
He shattered. Deep, pulsing release that left him gasping, hips jerking helplessly as he spilled everything he had. She clenched around him, milking every drop, drawing it out until he whimpered from overstimulation.
She stayed there a long moment, stroking his hair, kissing his forehead softly.
"Such a perfect little mess."
The power stayed out. The roads stayed flooded. Sunday passed in a haze of firelight and tangled limbs. More teasing by candle glow. More slow edges. More whispered praise and gentle commands. She never rushed. Never let him forget who was in control.
Monday morning the rain finally eased. Sun broke through the clouds. She stood by the door in her trench coat again, slip peeking beneath.
"Next time I lend you the cabin," she said, brushing a thumb over his swollen lips, "pack lighter. You won't need clothes."
She kissed him once, slow and deep, then stepped out into the wet world.
He watched her car disappear down the road, already aching for the next storm.
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