The Lady of the Rain
Posted: September 22nd, 2011 | Author: Patrick | Filed under: Hardcore Stories | Tags: Hardcore, Story |The House that I now lived in was miles from anywhere. It had been my own choice, I had often grown weary of people, and now as I faced my fortieth year, the loneliness no longer really bothered me that much.
It was the middle of winter now, and it had been a day since I had seen another face. The rain fell gently on the window, as I looked out over my land. My nearest neighbours were more than a mile away. I kept to myself, and they kept to themselves. It was a mutually convenient arrangement.
I never had visitors, and I never had the phone ringing. When the phone rang, I always knew that something was bound to be wrong. Most people would call me reclusive. I simply prefer to see it as being one removed from human contact. I had not had human contact, proper human contact in so long, that when it happened to me last week, it was a pleasant surprise. I cannot believe it actually happened to me, and that is why I am writing it down, just to remind myself.
It was a night like this, much like any other. The rain fell heavily down, there was the odd squeak of car tyre on icy, slippery road. The odd stirring of sounds within my old house. There was the odd crack of bones as I moved around in my large, empty bed. Then there was the odd knocking at my door.
It had only been faint to begin with, and then it grew to a crescendo. I looked at the clock on my wall. It had just passed two in the morning. Who could want me at this time. I knew immediately that something was wrong. It always was, and it was always bound to be.
I quickly flung on my clothes, over my naked body. The loose fitting sweater, the jeans, and the shoes were always by my bed. The knocking grew more feverish.
‘I am coming.’ I called out. In a fit of exasperation, I opened the door. And, there she stood, the rain pouring over her. She was beautiful, she was voluptuous, brunette, her eyes glistened with intelligence and the rain. If she had been in monochrome, she could have stepped down right from the screen of one of those old films.
But, here she was, in full kodachrome, as real, as warm, as cold and wet as anything I had seen.
She looked at me as she began to speak.
‘Hello.’ she said. ‘I am sorry about the time, and everything, but I was travelling home, and my car broke down. I have walked here for more than half a mile, and yours was the only house I could find. Isolated here, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ I replied. ‘I quess you had better come in. I will stoke up the fire for you, if you like. You can dry yourself by it.’
‘Oh, I was really hoping that you could let me use your phone. I need to phone someone to fix my car.’
‘What’s wrong with it?.’
‘It is out of petrol.’
‘That’s no problem. You can have some of mine. I will siphon some from my car for you.’
‘Oh, will you?’
‘Yes.’
‘It is still raining.’
‘It has been raining all night.’ I replied absentmindedly. ‘You must be soaked through to the skin. Come in, warm yourself by my fire.’
I led her through to the living room. The fire had burnt down but it still gave off more than enough heat. I went into the wood in the rain, with my torch, and found more wood for the fire.
When I went in, I was as soaked as she was. She had taken of her coat, and was warming herself through her clothes. In the low glow of the fire, I looked at her. She was no more than thirty, her hair was long and brunette, and hung damply around her green eyes, and perfect skin. I saw much of her cleavage through her bra, and her wet, white blouse.
I coughed as I took in the fire, disturbing her reverie. I quickly threw the wood onto the fire, as she turned round to look at me. She smiled.
‘Thank you, I really appreciate what you are doing for me. I really have nowhere else to be. I was making my way home, when my car just died on me. You must know how it is, living all the way out here.’
She smiled. ‘I am sorry, you don’t even know my name. I am Sarah.’
She smiled again, offering her hand. ‘Help me up will you?’ I did as she asked me. Our hands touched for a moment, and we both felt a wave of static electricity run through us. She must have generated energy on her way through the woods. I had visitors here sometimes, I had always to watch that happening. This time, though, I had forgotten. It was not that often that I had such a beautiful woman in my house.
There was an uncomfortable silence between us.
‘God, look at you.’ she said, ‘you are soaked through. Quick, give me your clothes, they will dry by the fire.’
I took of the sweater, and the shoes, and the jeans, forgetting that I was naked under them.
‘Oh my.’ she said. ‘I had forgotten that I got you out of bed. Here I am a guest in your own house, and I have already stripped you naked. What kind of floosy must you think I am?’ a laugh played briefly over lips.
‘Quick, I feel I must join you. My clothes won’t get any warmer by me keeping them on, will they?’
I Laughed, part out of embarrassment, and partly out of excitement. I was now naked in my own house, my own shortcomings and physical defects exposed to an incredibly beautiful woman, who I had only just met, and who was now taking her clothes of in front of me.
She smiled, and let her shirt fall to the floor. Her bra soon followed, and I looked at her perfect skin, her hardening nipples, and pure, white alabaster skin. She turned away from me, and I watched as she rolled her skirt down over her legs, and saw the fully rounded shape of her buttocks. She removed her tights, and her pants, and turned around in the fire light. I watched her beauty, as she cast shadows of nubile voluptuousness against the walls.
‘Now, you have seen me, let me see you.’
‘What? I asked her.
‘Will you turn for me?’
In the light of the fire, I turned for her, self consciously. She watched, as my erect penis cast its own shadows against the walls.
‘Well’ I said ‘What shall we do now?’
‘Normally, when a man in the same room as me has one of those’ she said pointing at my now fully erect penis ‘I like to fuck him.’
I laughed. She was a free spirit. She bent down over my manhood. Her mouth covered me, her warm breath on my cock and my scrotum only adding to my excitement. She stopped, and her attentions moved up my body. Her own lips touched with mine. The excitement and passion of our kissing drew out breathless gasps from both of us, as the kiss was broken. I moved my own attention down her body, to her nipples. I kissed her breasts, and as my lips moved to her nipples, my attention elicited gasps of delight.
My hands roved over her body, touching, kneading, holding her large warm buttocks, and my hands moved down to between her legs, eliciting yet more groaning. She lay me down on the floor, and gently moved over me. I felt her nipples rubbing against mine, I felt her lips next to mine. I felt her vagina gently caress and envelop me.
My hands moved over her breast, her own pushing and moving generating sensations within me that I barely remembered, but now never wanted to forget. Soon, our sighing, groaning, moaning had grown to a crescendo, and our sounds and energy showed the impending orgasm. We both let out cries and grunts of ecstacy as the energy of the orgasm ran through us, and in the dying light of the afterglow, we looked at each, realising the passion that we had released.
We moved from the fireside, and let our clothes dry by it, and that night, for the first time in years, I shared my bed with a good woman.
Sarah and I myself made love a further four times that night. We did it in all positions, and I caught sight of us in the mirror, as another orgasm ripped through our bodies. It is an image that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
The following morning, I watched her slowly dress, covering up the body that I had ravished the night before. I watched as the last of her bare, naked skin was concealed within her clothes. I got up myself, my movements carefully concealing my semi-arousal. I got dressed, and followed her down the road. In the bright light of the day, I filled her car with the petrol I had siphoned from my own car. She gave me a £50 note to cover the costs of her petrol and my hospitality.
She gently kissed me on the lips, where only hours ago our own enflamed passions had threatened to engulf us. She handed me her card, and asked me to call her. A week has passed, and I still stare at that card now. I haven’t phoned her. My body tells me that I should. My heart and my mind tells me that I shouldn’t. I am a man of literature, of thought, and sometimes I wish that I wasn’t. I am not a man of bacchanalia and passion. Sometimes I wish that I was.
(The End)