can you do a blurb about kreider renting a cabin in the middle of nowhere so you can be as loud as you want without worrying about the neighbors hearing?
You had driven Route 1 before, a long time ago on a post-college road trip. Northern California was beautiful, but you remembered hating the hairpin turns, even as a passenger. You wondered if you’d even be in the mood to sleep with Chris when you reached your destination.Â
 But when you got there, you thought it would be difficult to not be in the mood. It was beautiful. The cabin Chris had rented looked sufficiently rustic on the outside, complete with a log bench swing on the porch; the inside was modern but decorated to match the woodland vibe. You were insulated by miles of thickly forested land.Â
 “Where’s the nearest neighbor?”
 Chris wrapped his arms around you. “You could scream as loud as you could for hours and no one would hear you.”Â
 In any other context-- and with any other person-- that may have sounded sinister. But this was precisely why you’d come to this spot. You were a screamer. Chris did things to you that you didn’t even know were possible. You lived in close proximity to prudish neighbors who got very upset if they knew sexual intercourse was happening in their vicinity. Too many bed squeaks got angry phone calls sometimes.Â
 You wanted to be able to let it out.Â
Later, after unpacking and having dinner, you lit the fireplace and Chris laid you down on the rug, taking his time, removing every piece of clothing at a tantalizingly slow pace. Out here, you felt that you had all the time in the world. The moment he kissed his way down your body, slipping his tongue between your folds, you knew what he was after.
 The best sex, for you, was when three things happened in order: first, Chris had to eat you out, and he had to do it in a very particular way. He had to edge you for a while before letting you come, so your orgasm was as intense as it could be. Then, he had to let you catch your breath—just barely—before sliding into you. You would be wet, relaxed, desperate to have him in you. He’d have to make you come a couple of times. Then, even though your legs would already be shaking, he’d have to pull you off of the bed and bend you over something. At home, it would be the dresser, or the kitchen table, or the bed, or the washing machine—there were no shortage of spots you’d done this in your own place. You’d bend over and stick your ass out and he’d take his time entering your ass. He’d let you get used to him—slowly, he’d move in and out, in and out, stroking your back, letting you adapt. And when you were ready, he’d thrust so hard and so fast that you had to bite the pillow, your arm, the tablecloth, a clean towel, whatever was nearby to keep yourself from screaming out—because it felt so goddamn good you couldn’t take it. You always, always came so hard that “squirting” didn’t come close to describing the fountain you became.
 This time, Chris was on his A game. He went down on you—then he let you rest, and kissed you, and kissed you some more, and all of a sudden his hand was between your legs and his fingers were doing the work his tongue had just done, and you breathed in sharply and moaned right into his mouth, Chris, fuck, I—
 And after you came a second time, he pushed two fingers inside of you, just playing a little until you were ready, busying his lips and tongue with your breasts. You called out, but since the sensation was different, it wasn’t overwhelming.
 It wasn’t overwhelming until he started fucking you and your arms were clasped around his neck and you were half-crying as he made you come three times while you lay on your back. You felt the rug burn on your shoulders. It only made it better.
 And then he helped you off the floor and bent you over the rough-hewn kitchen table. The high-gloss wood was cool against your skin and he ran his hands all over your body before coating his cock with lube and positioning himself.
 “You can scream,” he reminded you, his whisper dark in your ear. “Make noise for me.”
 He slid into your ass and you let out a low whine as he let you adjust to him. “Chris,” you pleaded. “Chris, fuck me. Come on. Please.”
 He toyed with the notion of asking you to beg a little more, but he was just as impatient. He dug his fingers into your hips and became relentless; you cried out, your voice echoing off the walls. You saw that Chris had left a window open, and your immediate instinct was stop, we have to close it—but you remembered no one would hear you. It was, in a way, thrilling—to be able to let these sounds travel outside your walls.
 You were sure, as sensitive as you were and as amazing as this felt, you couldn’t have done much to cover your screams at home. No decipherable syllables were leaving your lips; you couldn’t form words you couldn’t even form Chris’ name properly, not with the force he was using to fuck you, not with the explosive shockwaves radiating through your body, not with the rivers running down your legs as you came, screaming, once—
 and certainly not after Chris caught you in his arms as your thighs went weak. “I’m not done with you yet,” he warned. “Are you good?”
 “Do whatever you want to me,” you managed, your voice hoarse, and you had no idea if you’d even be able to come again; your body was hypersensitive, but you didn’t want him to come out of you, you wanted him to have his orgasm.
 He kissed the back of your neck and held you up, strong arms around your torso as he continued to fuck you. You thought he’d be after his own end, but you realized he was trying to make you come again.
 Fairly soon, you realized he was going to succeed.
 “Fuck,” you cried, “Chris, I—I’m—oh, God, yes, I—” and you’d exhausted your English again as another orgasm built and built and suddenly burst.
 You were limp in his arms and he held you firm. You were still crying out as he came, harshly, letting himself make more noise than he usually allowed, and you noted how much of a turn-on that was.
 After slipping out of you, he picked you up and carried you into the bathroom, setting you gently in the tub. He put in the plug and started the warm water.
 “You made an absolute mess of me,” you said weakly, smiling up at him.
 “My sole goal in life,” Chris said, bending down to kiss you. “Making you scream until you don’t have words left.”
 “I love you,” you told him.
 He smiled. “I love you. I’ll get you some tea. That voice needs to be ready for what I’m going to do to you tomorrow. This was just a warm-up.”
