The foresters cabin - (MarApr Contest)

[LaLia]

Teaser: ...
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: The foresters cabin
Author: LaLia
Chapter Tags: ---
Content Warnings: ---
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The foresters cabin

It was an evening in May, one of those typical spring evenings that felt truly summery during the day and then suddenly changed as soon as the sun set. I had only intended to drive to the next town over. A few errands for university, picking up a prescription from the doctor, a quick trip to the pharmacy, and then picking up some groceries. As is so often the case when you live in a smaller area, I ran into someone I hadn't seen in a while, chatted with a former school friend for far too long, and suddenly the whole afternoon was over.

When I finally got back into the car, it was already dark. The temperature had dropped noticeably—from a pleasant 20 degrees Celsius during the day to just ten. I bitterly regretted not having brought a jacket, and I was already shivering before I even started the engine.

I hurried to get home, back to our little village where I still lived with my parents. As usual, I didn't take the main road, but the old forest track. It saved me a few kilometers and was simply more scenic, even if it was a bit lonely at night.

I had just driven past the trailhead parking lot, music was playing softly on the radio, and I was humming along absentmindedly when a light rain suddenly began. The drops drummed softly on the windshield. The next moment, several warning lights illuminated on the dashboard. The engine began to make strange, sputtering noises—an unhealthy rattling and knocking—and then it died completely. I just managed to steer the car onto the narrow shoulder with my last bit of strength before it finally gave out.

Silence. Only the rain, which was now intensifying, and the quiet ticking of the cooling engine.

I cursed myself inwardly for taking that shortcut again. Right here, in the middle of the woods, there was of course zero cell service. Not a single bar. I was sitting exactly halfway: six kilometers home, six kilometers back in the other direction. And apart from a few farmers or isolated locals, hardly anyone used this road.

My parents were invited to friends' houses today—so they wouldn't even notice if I didn't come home. Great.

I racked my brains. Spend the night here in the car? No, I was already freezing miserably, and the temperature was dropping further. Walk home? Ninety minutes in good weather, probably much longer in the dark and rain. Wait until someone happened to come by? The chance was very small at this hour.

Then I remembered the forester's lodge. It wasn't far from here, maybe a twenty-minute walk if I hurried. Surely the forester would be home at this hour, I thought. He knew me by sight, and in an emergency, he'd certainly be able to help me—or at least offer me a phone and a warm place to sit.

But this damned rain. I'd vacuumed the car just the day before yesterday, and the umbrella, which usually stayed in the trunk, was of course safely tucked away in our garage. I couldn't find a large garbage bag or anything else I could use for makeshift protection. Nothing helped. I had to brave the rain.

I waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. The rain didn't let up; on the contrary, it was now pelting down on the car roof. And it was getting noticeably colder. The cold seeped through my thin clothing and settled into my bones.

Finally, I took a deep breath and opened the car door.


I waited. "Well then... let's go," I muttered to myself and stepped out into the wet, cold May night.

I had to walk back a few meters to the small parking area for hikers that I had driven past earlier. From there, a narrow, muddy path led directly into the woods, the path I knew all too well from the May Day celebrations.

I often hiked here with my friends. In bright sunshine, with cold drinks in our backpacks, loud laughter, and good spirits. Now everything was different. The darkness was oppressive, almost tangible. Thick fog hung between the old beech and spruce trees, and the forest emitted eerie sounds: the rustling of rain in the leaves, the dripping from the branches, a distant creaking of wood.

After just a few minutes, my gray top was completely soaked. The fabric clung to my skin, heavy and cold, clinging uncomfortably. My black jeans soaked up the water, became heavy, and chafed with every step. My sneakers didn't hold up well in the puddles for long—soon, water squeaked between my toes with every step.

I was completely alone deep in this otherwise idyllic little patch of wood. At least, that's how it felt. But was I really alone?

Suddenly I heard a crackling sound. Like someone stepping on branches in the undergrowth. Once. Then again, a little bit closer. I stopped abruptly, my heart pounding in my chest. With trembling fingers, I switched on my phone's flashlight and shone it in the direction the sound had come from. The beams of light flickered across wet trunks and thick undergrowth. Nothing.

"Stay calm, Lia," I whispered to myself, my voice sounding strange and far too thin in the darkness. "You're just imagining it. Just a deer or a fallen branch."

I continued walking, faster now. The path led me deeper into the forest, past the small forest lake, its surface rippled slightly in the rain. Relieved, I realized I was indeed on the right track. It couldn't be far from the forester's lodge.

Nevertheless, I was miserably cold. The chill had seeped into my bones. I continued listening intently to the sounds of the forest—animal noises, a rustle here, a soft crackle there. Again and again, I had the unsettling feeling that I wasn't alone, as if someone were watching me. My breath quickened, and without really meaning to, I broke into a light trot. The mud under my feet squelched louder with every step.

Then finally, after what felt like an eternity, I spotted it in a small clearing: the forester's lodge. And yes—there was a light on! A warm, yellow glow behind the windows. A feeling of happiness washed over me despite the cold.

I stepped closer, my pulse was still racing. Only now did I truly realize what I must look like: soaking wet, my hair plastered to my face and neck in stringy strands, the gray top clinging to me like a second skin. My nipples were clearly visible through the wet bra and the thin fabric, and goosebumps prickled my arms.

I knocked on the heavy wooden door. Once. Twice. Nothing.

I knocked harder, louder. Now the door opened a crack. Warm air wafted towards me.

“Hello?” I said cautiously, slowly pushing the door open before stepping inside.

I found myself in a large, rustic room that served as both living and dining room. A small kitchenette lined the corner, and trophies—stuffed heads of wild boars and deer with impressive antlers—hung on the walls. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and I was immediately enveloped by a wonderful, dry warmth that made my chilly limbs tingle.

I looked around.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” I called out into the room.

But it was all silent. Only the rain drummed incessantly on the roof, and the only other sound was the rhythmic ticking of an old wall clock. It read 10:10 p.m.

I searched for a telephone. Perhaps there was a landline somewhere. “Maybe further back?” I thought.

To my right were two closed doors; straight ahead, a dark hallway led deeper into the house.

Why was the front door open if no one seemed to be home?

There it was again—that sound. A soft creaking, as if I wasn't alone in the house after all. The door squeaking in the wind, I told myself, just the wind. I was about to turn around to investigate when suddenly strong hands grabbed me from behind.

I froze in shock. A large, rough hand swiftly covered my mouth, stifling my surprised cry into a muffled sound. A second hand roughly grabbed my waist and held me firmly. I felt hot, unfamiliar breath right behind my ear. Then two more hands came—a second man, whom I only saw out of the corner of my eye, grabbed my arm.

"Well, what have we here?" the man behind me whispered in my ear. His voice was deep and rough, with an uncomfortable amusing undertone.



I turned my head slightly and glanced at him. He was powerfully built, noticeably taller and broader than me, in his late thirties or early forties, with striking features and a dark, three-day stubble. Definitely not the forester.

For a split second, I was paralyzed, then my survival instinct kicked in. I tried to break free, kicking backward with all my might against the shin of the man who was holding me, twisting and turning, trying to tear myself away. I wanted to scream, to call for help—anything—but the hand over my mouth only tightened its grip.

I quickly realized how hopeless the situation was. And then I saw the third man. He was calmly closing the heavy front door behind us and turning the key. My blood ran cold.

His face was even more striking than the others'—hard, with a noticeable scar above his left eye. I'd seen that scar in the newspaper yesterday. The headline flashed through my mind: "Three inmates escape from prison. The three men had been sentenced to long prison terms for sex crimes."

I swallowed hard. The three men's eyes slid slowly and unabashedly over my body. Over my wet, stringy hair, my wet skin, the tight, soaked clothes that clung to me like a second skin. My small breasts pressed noticeably against the wet bra and the gray top.

"Oh God, please no," flashed through my mind as hot tears filled my eyes.

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[HistBuff]

So we have the forester stepping in! A father proud of his boys! As a gen-Xer, this brave old forester deserves some entertainment, right? That's a great twist because a lot of readers will be thinking the forester is lying dead somewhere. The middle-aged man is not a rarity in young ladies' fantasies!

Same for large cocks in girly dreams, 20 cm being a rarity.

I don't know for Germany, but "based on data from Canada, the overall police-reported crime rate and violent crime rate are generally higher in rural areas than in urban centers on a per capita basis". It matches what Sherlock Holmes told Watson in The Hound of Baskerville. Lia is now a helpless statistic

[0716]

A wonderful start to another well written story . The question of how it will end with the forester now a bad guy?

[Blue]

Der Albtraum einer jeden Frau und der Traum vieler Männer! Aus dem Gefängnis entkommene Häftlinge, voller Geilheit, finden zufällig oder absichtlich ein weibliches Opfer...
Auf die Fortsetzung bin ich gespannt. Der erste Teil lässt ja noch vieles offen..

@Lalia:
Nasser Stoff zerreißt viel schwerer als trockener...

[Claire]

@LaLia You might consider giving the story a different name. Your story for the Used and Abused tournament back in July 2025 already used the title "Tears in the Rain":

viewtopic.php?t=569

[Lucius]

I'd seen that scar in the newspaper yesterday. The headline flashed through my mind: "Three inmates escape from prison. The three men had been sentenced to long prison terms for sex crimes."

I'd say that their come-to-daddy approach isn't the best option for laying low...

Then the other one joined in. The word "Rapist" was tattooed on his shaft in large, dark letters.

Truth in advertising.

[LaLia]

@all: Thanks for your feedback

@Claire : Thanks for the heads-up. It's funny to come across the same title twice and not remember

@HistBuff : I initially thought the forester was killed, then I had the idea that he was overpowered and involved, and then I arrived at the final version. I quite liked it too, because it's not something you necessarily expect, but it also explains why the three men are there.

And yes, rural areas are always dangerous... I like forests, wrong turns, etc.

@all: Basically, the story is written as a contribution to the upcoming contest and is essentially finished.

[Shocker]

Excellent story, coming from one pf the worst imaginable starting point, a car breakdown in the middle of nowhere, with no resources to get help.

The subsequent development was predictable, I mean this in a good way, that the plucky heroine gets plugged.

As always I thoroughly enjoyed your vivid storytelling.

[Quinotaurus]

A little short and classic maybe but I like the woods, the night, and the woods at night, so the ambiance checked a lot of boxes for me. I felt that cold nasty rain.

[RapeU]

Having anything tattooed on your wang is bold. Imagine the pain one would have to endure. The word "rapist" is even bolder. That's the kind of detail that tells victims biting it would likely do nothing.