Slow Burning Fire - Sex Stories

Slow Burning Fire

Soaked! Nothing could be more disappointing than crawling into bed and laying in an icy wet spot. I jump out and pull the heavy brown quilt down to discover the cause of the wetness. I don't drink in my bed, it can't be anything I've spilled on the bed. I haven't wet the bed, I hope it's not from an animal that came inside the cabin to escape the snow. Snow. Of course it's snow, I look up and can see a fine flutter of snow falling from a hole in the ceiling. I sigh, what I viewed as quaint charm in the summer has become a dilapidated hell hole. I turn the tap on the sink on to put on the stove for tea. The water is just like the temperature outside, freezing cold. I think about making a list of complaints to the frail man who rented this cabin to me. I have about seven repairs in mind before my water begins to boil and fill the cabin with a dense cloud of steam. The temperature inside must be colder than I thought. Thank God my robe is still relatively dry. I sit down in the easy chair and try to warm myself up with hot chamomile. It burns my tongue but I reserve my complaints because there is no one else here to vent them too. I decide that old man Johnson shouldn't be bothered with the flaws of this cabin. After all, his wife had recently passed away and it is Christmas Eve. This makes the first Christmas Eve I've been completely secluded from anyone, my family, my close friends, distant friends, and there is certainly no boyfriend to mention. My only concern for the next ...

... three months is to crank out my first full length novel. The short stories and infrequent magazine features have just barely kept me from having to find a real job. I'm eking out a living with the hopes my novel will get me noticed for a big payday. My tea is already getting cold so I judge it must be time to load the fireplace with more dead wood. The bin is about half empty, I make a mental note to do something about that. I drift to a cozy state where I think I could fall asleep in this big chair. Eventually I'm going to have to do something about the hole in the roof, or move the bed. The wild animals are even quiet tonight because of the blizzard. I cringe when the quiet is broken by the sound of an obnoxious motor. It's not a car, this cabin is on the end of a dead end path. The noise grows louder and louder until I'm clenching my teeth. I wonder what sort of person or people would be riding around on an irritating snow mobile. There's a blizzard outside and it's past 9 pm on Christmas Eve. I get up and double check the lock on the door and peer out the tiny window beside the kitchen sink. My heart starts to thump because the noise just stopped somewhere outside my door. I see a big dark jacket walking down the path towards my door. I let out a huge sigh of relief that he's not carrying an ax or gun of any kind. I recognize him as Spencer, the somewhat well off man I've bumped into in the village's only bakery. I wonder why on Earth he's here, I'm sure he has somewhere ...