"And we return to the scene of the crime," Cecilia grumbled. "What the fuck am I doing here?"
Her old Subaru crunched the gravel as she rolled alongside a 20 year old, well I used but well cared for, full size four wheel drive pickup.
Cecilia had ridden in this truck at the end of her last visit. She remembered the look on Martin's face after she had asked him to drive her back to her car at the trailhead. He had just given her a ride to his house from the cabin on the back of his ATV, with her hugging his back and her face buried in his scent the entire way, both of them enjoying the close contact.
When she first asked for a ride to her car, which was not at his house as it should have been, he had been confused. As he followed her directions, his pickup had been filled to breaking with the quiet of his growing concern, and by the time they had gotten to her car, his face had been a mask of terror. She had left him with a kiss on his cheek in the moment he had accepted that she really was a lost hiker and he had just raped her. As she had driven away, she could tell he had been dying inside. It had seemed like a fun joke at the time, but after she felt more guilty with every day that had passed.
Now she was back.
Out of the car and girded for whatever happened next, she knocked on the front door. The house screamed 1950s ranch style. It was freshly painted a mocha color with white trim and forest green and terracotta highlights. The colors worked together much better than she would have expected.
After a couple of mInutes she knocked again on the green door a little harder.
After another delay she was about to pound more loudly with the bottom of her fist when it swung open. She stood frozen with her clenched hand raised to strike. Martin rewarded her with a look of startled panic in response to her raised fist.
"Hey, Tin-man," she said brightly then lowered her hand to her side.
"Ah," he unintelligibly replied.
"Cecil," she provided. "I know it's been a couple weeks, but I figured you'd remember my name."
"I remember just fine. I still like Cecilia better."
"But my friends call me Cecil."
"Would I be a friend after I, you know?"
"After you raped me?"
"Yeah that."
"So you know I was truly just a trespassing hiker."
"Yeah. Are you okay?"
She struggled glibly, "I survived."
"I feel horrible, when it turned out you weren't the real girl-"
"I'm not a real girl?! I thought your illicit explorations had established that I am very much a real girl."
"Yeah."
"What happened to her, anyway? You know, the 'real' girl?" she held up air quotes.
"Her message just said, that the drive was too far, too isolated, and she didn't want to walk by herself to the cabin." Martin grimaced, "I think she got cold feet at the last minute."
"Where'd you find her, a dating site, phone app?"
"I really don't want to talk about it. So, am I in trouble?"
"With the law? No. With me?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe?"
"Oh?"
"I figure you owe me. Big time."
"Owe you what?"
She took a breath and in a quick burst she said, "I get to stay in your cabin as much as I want, whenever I want." She added a hopeful smile as she awaited his reply.
Without delay he responded, "Okay, it's yours to use."
Cecilia was startled at how easy that was.
"Really? Just like that?"
"Sure, but why stay there? It's not very comfortable."
Martin followed when she turned and walked to her car, opening the rear hatch.
She spoke as she put her head into the rear of the car, "I write books. I need solitude sometimes. I think it will be perfect. Well almost. Needs electricity and plumbing."
He watched her shapely butt wagging as she dug in the back of her car.
"Okay. So, I'm not in trouble?" he attempted to confirm.
"That's what we need to find out."
She stood and handed him a box filled with power cords and battery packs.
"How's this work?"
"Well, these are chargers and spare batteries for my laptop." She pointed to each item as she explained as though he was 4 years old. "You plug them into the wall to charge my laptop batteries so you can bring fresh ones to me everyday."
Irritated with her evasion he responded, "No. I meant how do we figure out if I'm in trouble?"
She went on in an overly patient tone, still as though she was explaining something obvious to a young child, "I knew what you meant. I deliberately diverted the conversation."
He dryly replied, "And you just diverted it again."
"I can do it all day if you want."
"That's okay, I'll pass. When are you moving in?"
"Right now."
"Now?"
"You've got to plug those in first. They are going to be my life's blood so I can work."
***
The next revelation was the ATV he had for her to use for commuting to and from the cabin. It was a spare quad, identical to the one he used. Strangely, it was only lightly used even though it was several years old.
Later, while she was settling in, he came back with a bag of clothes. They were heavy jackets, thermal tights, gloves, knit caps, all in her size. Like the quad they were lightly used.
When she raised a questioning brow, he offered in mocking imitation of the patient, explaining tone she had used early, "It gets really cold in this little valley. The cold air from the mountains settles here and the low hills shelter it from the wind. Even on nice days it's like an ice box at night."
There was a finality to his statement that did not invite additional questions, such as, why do you have cold weather gear for a petite woman on hand. A vagrant thought roamed her mind, that these were the clothes of his previous victims. He kept them as a trophy, like an animal's pelt.
So tied up with her inner thoughts she had somehow missed the moment he had left.
"What no goodbye? A hug, or kiss?" she muttered. "Maybe a farewell screw?"
She held the freshly laundered clothes to her nose and inhaled what was becoming her new favorite scent. She would need to find out the brand of fabric softener he used.
He came to visit a third time that day, just before sunset. Cecilia had been sitting on a log in front of the cabin enjoying the view of the lake through the trees outlining her next novel and making notes on a spiral bound notepad.
Without speaking to her he began to unstrap logs from the back of the quad. Then, he went through the process of breaking them down into firewood with a long handled axe.
Cecilia watched intently. She wished he'd take off his shirt.
After stacking the wood in the cabin by the stove he asked, "Can you start a fire?"
"Yes."
"You should start one now. It takes a little while to warm that place up because of all the stone. Nice on a hot summer day, but cold at night. I could do it for you."
"I'm fine."
"Try to keep the fire going through the night. You may need to wake up a couple times to fix it."
"I will be okay." She smiled. "Why don't you stay the night so you can mind the fire for me."
He scoffed at her and left. She had no idea how to read him. He was a closed book. Had he scoffed because he had no desire for her? That was at odds with his wandering eyes. She pondered the question until the cold evening air chased her inside at sunset, then found the cabin even more icily cold. As he had warned, the fire took a long time to warm the small room so she spent the evening under the warm pile of blankets Martin had provided wishing he would have stayed, if only to warm her bed.
The scent of the bedding reminded her of the night she had spent with him. Her fingers slipped into her panties as she thought back to how Martin has pushed her over the bed and forcefully taken her from behind.
She dipped her hand down to steal some moisture from her pussy. Using it, she stroked circles around her clit. Her eyes went shut as she squeezed genitals between her fingers. Gathering more of her wetness she repeated the process.
"Oh, Tin-man. Please," she whispered.
Reliving their evening together in her mind, her hand played between her legs.
"Oh yes, why couldn't you have stayed to do this for me and mmm, and given me something to suck on. God!" She cried in pleasure.
***
Everyday Martin came to chop wood and everyday Cecilia attempted to discover if she had any hidden telekinetic powers to rip his shirt off.
On the fourth day, laid out on a towel in a very brief bikini while she made no effort to hide the fact she was watching him, he looked at her body with equal interest.
Between swings of the axe he nodded to her scratch pad and asked, "What are you writing?"
"Oh this? I'm planning a novel to pitch to my publisher."
"So you're published?"
"Yes, three titles."
"Would I have heard of any of them?"
"Probably not."
"Try me, I love to read. A book a week at least."
"They're, uh, not your style."
"How would you know?"
"Trust me."
"Tell me."
She puffed her cheeks out and pled with the sky before saying. "They're steampunk bodice rippers."
He stopped and leaned on the axe handle.
"Body rippers? Like horror?"
She slowly enunciated, "Bodice ripper," At his lack of comprehension, she took another deep breath, "It's Brit slang for romance novel."
"So, you write steampunk romance novels?"
She answered a little defensively, "Yes, romance novels with a steampunk setting."
"Okay? Why are you being so coy?"
"Have you ever read a romance novel?"
"No."
"Basically, it's hardcore porn in book form. I write steampunk porn."
"Oh." He blinked. "Really?" he looked and sounded genuinely surprised.
