Up for Free Use

Christ, I should have not drunk that much last night. I have the urge to stay in bed all day, but I know that if I do, all these bottles will stink up the cabin with all the bugs they'll attract. Dad only agreed to let me stay here as long as I kept the place clean, and I'll be damned if he catches me drinking myself to death. Worse, he might try to force me into rehab or something, even though this was more of a one-time thing.

I mean, really, when was the last time I had such a nice gentleman over? Oh, he was so dreamy, in multiple ways. Maybe I shouldn't have had that many glasses, because I would have loved to memorise a bit more of his wonderful face. Too bad that he didn't stay the night, though. I don't just mean for

that

reason, I kinda miss being around people in general. My whole family used to come to this cabin every Christmas holiday, but now everyone has their own families to worry about, leaving me to stew here in my own misery. I complained about that to my guest last night, hoping that he would take the hint about me needing some company for the night, but he merely looked at me amused. I guess I'm too much of a sloppy drunk for him to have made a pass at me.

Although, he did say one thing that sticks in my head: a wish. He asked for a wish. I repeated what I said earlier: I don't want to be lonely. He asked if I was sure. I said I was very sure, thinking that he was finally making a move. Then he left. Just up and out, nary another word. Didn't even register the disappointment on my face.

Ugh, whatever. It's not the first time I've been rejected. In fact, fuck him. Who wouldn't tap this? I'd tap this. Anyone would tap this. Clearly, he was gay, because how do you not tap this? Yeah, okay, maybe I shouldn't be saying that while throwing out a bin bag full of empty wine bottles, but my point still stands. A young girl like me doesn't need to fuss over not having enough men in her life.

KNOCK KNOCK

. Now who could that be? I bet it's him again, realising his dumb mistake and asking me out. I knew it, I'm just too hot to handle. Well then, he can sit there and stew for a minute or two. You know, give him some time to think that I'm already over him.

KNOCK KNOCK

. Wow, he's really banging on it. Guess he's more desperate than I thought. Sorry, bud, should have caught me earlier when I was emptying the bins.

Then the front door opens, and I immediately get up to check who it is. Not only am I sure that I locked it, I'm also sure that I told him that I'd be staying till January, so why on earth would he walk in uninvited? It might be someone else, but again, who could that someone be? This cabin is in the middle of nowhere. Even if I had forgotten to lock it, the only people that come near this place are mountain hikers, and the little village downhill should have warned them about who's living here. Oh wait, did I tell them that I was living here this month? Dad usually does it, so maybe... Christ, it's hard to remember with this hangover clouding my head. My wedgie doesn't help either. I'd like to look into why I have a wedgie or, actually, why I'm just now realising that I'm very cold, but I have bigger issues to attend to.

The living room has a strange man inside. I don't recognise him, yet he's already plopped his backpack down and is in the middle of taking off his trainers. The moment he sees me, he flinches.

"I- I'm Theodore," he says hesitantly.

"Grace," I reply. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, I thought this place was empty."

"That doesn't mean you can just come in."

"But the sign said it was free to use."

"What sign?"

The man opens the door, and I take a step back once I see the piece of paper stuck to my front door that reads

SHE'S UP FOR FREE USE!

I tear that thing off immediately. Honestly, who on Earth put that there? Is this seriously someone's idea of a prank? If so, that's horrible. Just because I was feeling a little lonelier than usual recently doesn't mean that I wasn't asking for squatters.

"Sorry, but this place isn't up for sale or anything."

Now it's his turn to look confused, and I ask what's wrong. He points downwards. "Why are you taking your clothes off?"

I follow his finger and mirror his confusion. For some reason, my hands are in the middle of pulling my tights down, and my skirt is flipped up, giving him a good view of my cameltoe. I pull them back up immediately. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me."

"...So why are you doing it again?" he asks. I look down once more, and yep, my thumbs are back inside my tights. This time, I can't wrench them out properly, so I have to explain to this very bewildered man that they must be stuck on something, while I jump about trying to get myself unstuck.

Eventually, my jumping about leads to me facing away from him, and suddenly I'm not able to jump about anymore. My feet are firmly glued to the ground, despite my hands still tugging my tights down. And yes, I do only mean my feet. My thighs are still perfectly capable of moving, but with my feet rooted to the spot, all that movement just translates into shaking my ass.

Definitely

not

what I intended, and I'm equally horrified to look behind me and learn that the stranger is looking more entertained by the second. In fact, he's not even trying to look at my face anymore; he's looking a lot further downwards, and unlike before, he's not hiding it. Soon, my tights are on the floor, with my recently-shaven legs exposed to the cool air. My thumbs quickly move on to my miniskirt, which I also try to fight, which means more ass-shaking as I unwillingly squat lower and lower and ultimately throw that off too. My lace thong is now on full display, and since I can't move my feet, the only way to look at him is to turn my waist and pose for him like in an Instagram selfie. It probably doesn't help that I'm also wearing an off-the-shoulder crop top, accentuating the amount of skin I'm showing.

Safe to say, I'm disgusted. I've basically strip-teased for a man I've known for less than five minutes, and he clearly isn't minding it. In fact, before I can protest, he strides across the room to wrap his arm around my waist from behind and pull my chin up towards his face. He says that he gets it, that I've obviously been too pent up all by myself, and that I obviously need some sort of release.

Not that I can say anything against that, since his tongue is now in my mouth. Damn, he's a great kisser. No, what, why am I focussing on that? I need to get him off me. He's already kneading my ass and... is he grinding on me? He is, isn't he. He's rubbing his bulge on my bum. Freaking out, I forget about my traitorous hands and try to use them to shove him off me.

Only for them to instead move his hand towards my crotch. Naturally, he gets the wrong idea and begins rubbing me through my underwear, earning him some of my quiet moans into his lips. That makes him more excited, and my hands soon give up any pretense of control and wrap themselves around his head. His eyes are closed, so he can't see that mine are wide open, puzzled as to why I can't stop aggressively making out with him. Why I'm letting him finger me. Why I'm whimpering into his kisses. Finally, he stops, his spit dangling into my mouth, his eyes lit with desire. I gulp, before realising I just swallowed his saliva.

Great, now I can't stop thinking about how much I swallowed. I won't get the taste out for weeks. Worse, he doesn't even care, he's already scooping me up and heading upstairs. "Your room's this one, right?" he asks, walking through the first door that he sees open. He is right, I didn't close the door when I went to see who came in, but I'd have liked not to show my room to a man I've barely talked to. Too late now, I guess, because he throws me onto the bed, flips me onto my front, and spreads my legs. In a matter of seconds, he's got me right where he wants me, and I'd be lying if I say that I wasn't both into it and scared by it. At least he's an ass guy, because he hasn't bothered to remove my top, and I don't know if I have it in me to show him my boobs too.

Shifting the thong to the side, he blows on my crotch a bit to get a squeak out of me before diving in. Now I move on to outright groaning, which he absolutely delights in. He starts lapping me up, making sure to pay equal attention to tonguing my clit and licking the insides of my vagina. It seems his kissing skills work down there too, because, god, I have to focus on not ripping my sheets with how hard I'm gripping them.

You know, I was just worrying about his spit being in my mouth, and now I'm letting him slobber all over my cunt. How did I even get here?

"Alright, you should be ready now." Ready? Ready for what?

That's a dumb question, I realise, because it's pretty obvious what this was leading up to. Hell, I can even feel him prodding me down there. This is my final chance to resist, and I need to take it. In one last-ditch effort, I attempt to get off all fours and scramble away from this mess.

Yet, I can't. Not like emotionally, I can't. More like I'm physically unable to stop hovering my butt in the air. I'm forced to sit there and watch helplessly as he gets himself into position and eventually thrusts into me with one big grunt from the both of us. A satisfied sigh from him, a tiny shudder from me, and he begins pounding me. There's still a bit of fight in me left, but it's useless; my hands and feet won't move an inch, so I'm stuck bending over for him. Sooner or later, I give up and resign myself to being ploughed from behind, although I could do without the sloppy noises his dick makes sliding into my spit-lubricated vagina. Oh, and the dirty talk. He's calling me a slut, a perverted slut who wears slutty clothing to signal to men how much of a slut I am. Slut, slut, slut, he repeats it every time he slams into me.

Come to think of it, why did I wear these clothes? Even in the house, it's pretty cold, so it doesn't make much sense to wear a miniskirt or a crop top. And I wasn't expecting anyone today, so why did I wear lace lingerie, especially when the bra straps would be clearly visible? I'm sure the answers are at the tip of my tongue, but he's beginning to spank me, and I'm having to bite my pillow to cover up my loud mini-orgasm. It's still loud enough that he hears it anyway, so he spanks and spanks until I'm red, and now I'm really tearing into my pillowcase. I can't do this, I have to tell him to stop.

Of course, I don't. The moment I open my mouth, it only manages to scream out the groans I was so desperate to hide. I clamp it shut quickly, but the damage is done, and I can feel him ramp up his speed. I think he's going to... Oh, screw it. I start furiously rubbing my clit, driving myself towards the big climax as well. Yes, I do notice that I'm able to move again, but I don't know what I can do at this point, so I might as well enjoy myself too now that we're close to the end.

And then I cum. Hard. Hard enough that I see stars. Not hard enough that I can't feel the warm liquid unloading into me. Oh no.

"Thanks for... cumming inside," I pant as I'm filled to the brim, failing to be as sarcastic as I'd liked.

"You're... welcome..." he pants as he finally pulls out, failing to notice my sarcasm. "Are you... on the pill...?"

"Yes," I lie automatically. I can't tell why I said that. I'm too out of breath to care anyway.

Once we've taken a little time to recover, he zips his trousers back up, and I lead him outside, since I have to go downstairs anyway to grab the clothes I left behind. Only once I reach my clothes do I notice the cum running down my legs, which makes me hesitate putting anything back on again. In the end, I'd rather not get my own clothes dirty, so I show him to the door half-naked.

Please don't say anything, please don't say anything, please don't say anything

. He does say something: "Could you turn around for me?" Thinking that there's something on my back, I comply, but no, he just wanted to slap my ass again and hear me yelp for the last time. I can't even tell him off for it, because he's bolted down the hill, laughing the whole way down.

I close the door and look at myself.

My legs are aching.

My hands are untrustworthy.

And there's a trail of cum leading from my bedroom to the front door.

Sighing, I grab a mop.