Private Cabins Reasonable Rates

Everyone has secrets. Mine? I have a front row seat to the moments people think they're having in private. I run a small campground who's main and only attraction is "Private Cabins". There is no pool, lounge or minigolf. Just cozy little getaways, well spaced, where people come to do things to each other they wouldn't want someone on the other side of a thin hotel wall to hear. The place has a quiet reputation with shockingly reasonable rates but no one thinks to question "Why?" I call it my guilt discount. What am I guilty of? Hidden cameras, superb audio capture and a private server full of "private" moments.

Does that make me a bad person? Probably. After some of the things I've seen, I figure I'm only watching. They're the ones who are doing.

The reservations that are most promising are the ones made "off season". The ones, like him, who ask for "privacy" in a place that boasts of nothing else. I have a special cabin for those requests and some of my fondest secrets are filmed there. This one, however, changed my life forever. I guess it was bound to catch up with me eventually.

***

A stuffed bear's face is crushed to the window of the big truck outside the office, partially obstructing the first view of the girl in the passenger seat. The man who appears and strolls to the desk is unfriendly looking but attractive, shows little interest in anything but getting back to his passengers and takes the keys from me, declining my offer to take them to their cabin. Very well, off you go then. I'll see you both soon enough.

I watch them pull up. The truck is massive. As he hops out and slams the door, I risk panning the camera to get the perfect view. It's not just the sex I enjoy. These moments of arrival foreshadow much of what I'll be seeing and they've booked for a week. I have a good feeling about this. I'm not disappointed.

He opens the door but rather than help her out he turns her so her little legs dangle over the side of the seat and spreads them wide. At first I gasp, my mind playing tricks on me. The bear, the dress, the naked little sex in full view of my voyeur eyes ... my heart starts to sink. I've had to deal with that before and it's usually a call to the police and a nightmare in the local papers. I zoom in on her face and a slow smile grows over the anxiety. I'll be keeping this booking. She's small, she's certainly childlike, but without a doubt, she's of age.

I linger on their faces for a moment. It really isn't just about the sex for me. The rhapsodic trust in her eyes and the look of malevolent hunger on his face are a far greater thrill. She trusts him, yes, adores him even, but the white knuckle grip she has on that bear as I pan on those tense and trembling fingers speaks of a fear that at least her body is wise enough to register, even if her eyes don't. This is lovely stuff. Instinct tells me it's time to move on and I slowly move my remote gaze down to the main attraction here ... those splayed thighs, the delicate pale flesh he's graciously managed not to fully obscure just yet. I zoom in and my heart races.

Thumb-print sized bruises form constellations and oh oh oh I nearly spasm at the sight of the delicate lace pattern of welts that must be fresh from the ride here. Would to god I had camera footage of whatever roadside stop inspired the art adorning her bare skin.

A shiver of anticipation begins its way down my spine and then I see her hand, his hand, come into view, sliding across the top of her thigh towards those bruises. I pan back, still lucky enough to have a perfect shot. She holds his gaze with an adoring smile as she guides his fingers to the bruises and presses them hard. The pain lights up her eyes. This lights up his. Oh what a shot! The first audio comes into play.

"Again, little one?" It's almost a growl as he jumps up onto the running board and roughly shoves his fingers hard inside her. She cries out more than I'd expect her to. This is hurting her. He grips her by the back of the neck and stares down over her, drinking up all the pain he's putting inside her to feel. Split screen now. The way her thighs tremble with the effort to stay open is too rich to tear my eyes away from but then again, so is the look on his face. He just might tear her apart. I've seen that look before. I can't imagine seeing that bearing down on me.

He's taking her mouth hard with his, she's feeding him her little cries and whimpers, her marked and pain-tattooed thighs form a trembling frame for his thrusting hand and the death grip on her bear is all that's keeping her together under his ferocity. They haven't even made it to the bed yet and already I've been gifted the kind of perfect moment I merely dream of. I fiddle with my recording equipment, caught up in the reverence of this moment when suddenly my body freezes, my breath catches hard and I stare incredulously at the screen.

Staring back at me, straight into the camera, is the coldfire that doubles for his gaze. Straight at me! How can that be? I think where this camera is concealed. No, there's absolutely no way he can see it. My mind reels. Deer in the headlights? No, prey to the predator is more like it. I've seen some bad, bad human beings pass through this secluded little oasis I've created for just that very purpose and I know this look of untethered ferocity but I've never been in its glare. She's released from his grip and is gathering her things but I can't look away. He's still staring at me. My stomach lurches and my heart bangs in my chest as I try to talk myself out of what I know to be true. It just can't be! He's never stayed here before. I'd recognize him, for certain-

With sickening and unmistakable purpose he turns his head slowly to the other camera and that gaze appears on the other side of the split screen. Something that would be a smile on a friendlier face slowly spreads and accentuates that vicious glare. He's mocking me! She cheerfully chatters in the background, her eyes still shining with the tears of a moment ago, a lifetime ago when I wasn't held in the grip of a nightmare, watching as this terrifying man mimes an old time camera, instructing me clearly, even as my violently shaking fingers reach to shut it all down to "Roll film..."

He wants me to keep filming? I can't think. He's scooping her up out of the truck now and carrying her out of frame and unthinkably, helplessly, I obey and hurry to catch up to them.

While the perfect capture outside seemed a stroke of brilliant luck given the limited coverage, the shots I can get inside the cabin have nothing at all to do with chance. Without getting into specifics, "The walls have eyes" is no mere expression when it comes to this particular guest accommodation. The walls, the ceilings, the floors, there is no hiding from my view but now the tables have turned.

How he even knows is still a mystery. Not just how but when? Why? Why does he want me to keep filming? What will he do? What demands will he make of me? He's already using my own cameras to look at me, command me. He doesn't need to threaten me. I know what I do is criminal. My own guilt is all that's required to keep me compliant. I know it and he knows it. Whatever lies ahead, I feel hopeful that he won't press charges, but there will surely be consequences. What remains to be seen churns in my stomach and races in my chest.

I try to steady my nerves as I follow her folded form in his arms, unable to turn off my voyeuristic instincts, switching seamlessly to an up-skirt shot of her lovely welts and bruises draped over his arm. I follow them to the big rocking recliner near the fireplace. He sets her down carefully, opens her legs once more and drapes each over the arms of the chair. I try not to think about how expertly he manages to stay out of my way as he lifts her thumb to her lips. She takes it in her mouth, I split screen again, and as one camera slowly closes in on her open legs, the other captures the tenderness between them as she pacifies herself with a contented little sigh, bear clutched tenderly to her chest.

It's a lovely sight. Despite my absurd predicament, I can't help but drink this scene with a deep thirst. These are the moments I replay more than any other. Precious vulnerability, intense connectivity, so rarely seen even in private, are native tongue for these two.

For the time being it seems he's forgotten about me. He brushes her cheek with his fingers and his gentle touch travels down over the bodice of her dress, stopping to chuck the bear under his chin with a warm smile I wouldn't have thought the man capable of. She laughs around her thumb and wriggles under his fingers as they lightly trace the length of her body. I keep a tight shot of her suckling mouth as another moves with him, down, down, down and I pull in tighter, closer, until at last I see, with amazement what he's drawing my attention to.

I shudder. I know switch marks when I see them and I can't fathom the pain that must have caused. No wonder she cried out when he took her with his fingers. The thin, raised lines look like ripples across her skin. He strums his fingernail over the lacy ridges at her little body's opening. She whimpers and I draw a sharp breath as I see how extensively he's marked the most tender parts of her body.

His lips press to her forehead as his thumb worries it's way inside her, gently this time. It doesn't stop her from wincing. No, I don't suppose it would. There, on screen, each eager little mouth hungrily pacifies around her thumb, his thumb. "Good girl" he murmurs as her eyelids flutter to a near close.

"Do you feel pain?" His thumb still feeds her little body and so does hers and eagerly she goes on devouring both. He watches, I watch, we watch, as she slips into a space only she could tell of. All the tension in her body melts before our eyes. It opens. I swear she grows smaller by the moment. She fights to open her heavy-lidded eyes, looking up at him through a haze of heat and adoration my watchful eye can't get enough of and her thumb slides to a rest against her open mouth. Her lips spread into a weak little smile. She shakes her head. "You. I feel you."

This is something they seem to understand. These words have a meaning I am not privy to. His fingers are taking her hard again and he's kissing her hungrily as he slams his powerful hand up against her glistening welted flesh. The meaning of her words tickle at my awareness. "You. I only feel you."

Suddenly he draws his hand back and slaps her poor vulnerable little sex hard. Her hips jerk up towards him, her legs start to fly out but then she grips the chair arms they're draped over. Her eyes go wide and I try to tear my focus away long enough to make sure I'm capturing the look of pure terror on her face. His hand strikes again. Oh GOD that has to hurt! Her breathy screech and writhing little body support this. Again. Again. Again. She's looking at him in pure panic as her hands grope and grab at her own thighs. Her head twists from side to side. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Sorry for what?! He doesn't answer. She continues to scream.

Her body writhes uncontrollably and yet, somehow, her legs keep their death grip on the chair. She's sobbing incoherently. He's relentless. I'm amazed as I watch her become physically disoriented, twisting, bucking, writhing from the pain until at last her legs fly free of their hold and she contorts into a ball in the chair. Again, she wails, pitifully, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" and the look on his face! I can barely manage the courage it takes to zoom in on him. What is that look? How is she not petrified? I can barely move. I've forgotten to breathe.

He drops down to his knees and I switch to a new angle, looking down on them from above. He reaches out and unearths her from the tangle of hair clinging to her tear-soaked face. She's still sobbing and her body is still reeling from the pain.

"It's okay, Sweetpea, give me your legs. Let's help you be a good girl. I promised I'll always help you when you need it, right?" His hands are gentle but the hunger in his voice is not as he pries her shaking legs back open and over the arms of the chair. It's clear this is taking a great effort on her part. I'm in awe watching the struggle. Her willingness to give him access is in direct conflict with her poor little body's own will to protect itself. I can almost hear her mind screaming for self-preservation but reason has clearly lost to something far stronger inside her.

He pulls her forward so her bottom is flush with the edge of the chair and I stare incredulously at the viciously red and tender mound between her legs. Her little sex is absolutely battered. The thin welts from the switch are distorted and raised further from the fingerprint welts now adorning her. It's clear he's focusing his efforts on her body's little opening and a violent shiver passes through me as I focus in on him and see the hard bulge straining against his jeans.

Before I've even had time to think of how much pain lies in store for her when he takes her, her screams fill the room once more. He's not done? Again. Again. Again. Her feet kick and her bottom bucks at my camera and each time his hand rises and falls she loses control of her will to be good for him until once more she convulses into a ball, this time sliding off the chair and into his arms, her body wild with pain as he holds her writhing form tightly to him, kissing her hair and murmuring things I can't hear above her cries.

His voice is rough with lust, that much I can make out, and in a swift and sudden move I have to scramble to keep up with, he lifts her still contorting body up off his lap, frees his raging hard-on and brings her back down, straddled on his thighs. He impales her deeply, gripping her neck, as new screeches and a fresh riot of pain inspired motion erupt in the little body he holds trapped against him.

It doesn't take long. Her hands clutch and cling as he pumps furiously into her scalded, little sex and the more she cries, the harder and more unforgiving his thrusting becomes until, at last, he seizes, flooding her inside.

As his own body quiets, I rest back into my chair, emotionally, physically, mentally exhausted. I've even managed to temporarily forget that I'm no longer a fly on the wall, unseen and unknown. He rocks her in his arms, soothing her, and it occurs to me that he just might be soothing himself along with her. I see a vulnerability pass over his face and as this happens, she does a remarkable thing. She comes back from whatever pain-filled darkness she's slipped into for the last few minutes just enough to reach trembly little fingers to his cheek. She makes soft cooing sounds and I realize that she's doing just that! She's tenderly soothing him from somewhere inside her traumatized little mind.

Beautiful.

He carefully lifts her, kissing her temple and sets her back in the chair just as she was, bottom resting at the edge of the cushion, legs opened once more. "Keep me inside you. Try not to spill, Sweetpea. I'm going to unload the truck." He lifts her thumb to her mouth and as her eyes close and her little body falls back against the cushions, I startle as that fierce glare finds my camera and stares straight at me once more.

"You. Stay put. Right here until I get back." He motions towards her little body and there's no mistaking his meaning.

She nods and incredulously, so do I. I feel a violent shudder pass through me. As if I'd even think of not doing what he wants? After what I just witnessed? I busy myself, adjusting the view as her little sex and her mouth tighten, tighten, tighten for my camera's loving eye.