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From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimson@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASS/M} New: Thunder Struck (MF, cons, rain)
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Well, a daughter can be a handful. It's taken me since August to
write, proof, and post this story. My thanks to all that have written
to me and encouraged me to continue writing.

After the heavy stories "Precious" and "Colours of the Soul", I had to
do something lighter. This is a very short story that came to me at
4:24 AM recently. It certainly isn't as heavy as the last stories I've
offered to you.

This story contains erotica. That might even mean descriptions of
sexual acts between consenting adults. If such stories offend, or
bother you, or if you are a minor, please don't read it. Trust me. You
won't offend me by not reading it.

Though I often use music as inspiration for these works, this story
was not inspired by AC/DC. Just in case you were wondering.

Characters and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people
and places are a strange coincidence.

I must thank Munk for looking over the story, and all her support for
these endeavours. Without her, you wouldn't be reading this.

This story is copyrighted by the author. It is intended for the
enjoyment of individuals and may not be archived beyond a personal
electronic copy, nor may it be reposted with the exceptions of the
following conditions. Special permission is granted for distribution
through Usenet groups alt.sex.stories and alt.sex.stories.moderated.
Further, it may be archived through the DejaNews service and the
alt.sex.stories.moderated archives which are both free services. This
work may not be distributed in any other manner without specific
permission from the author. If you wish to feature it on a free
website, please contact the author.

Comments are always welcome at dcrimson@yahoo.com

Notice that the archive locations have changed:

http://members.tripod.com/~Dragon_Of_Crimson

/~Crimson_Dragon

- Crimson


======================================================================

Thunder Struck [ MF, cons, rain ]

======================================================================

(c) August 1998 - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

======================================================================

Kathleen could almost smell the sharpness of ozone as the sudden
cacophony woke her from a glowing dreamscape. In the disturbed dream
she had been approaching a girl in diaphanous white, slowly walking
towards a raised marble dais. She'd been whispering unknown syllables,
the sounds falling rhythmically between her parted lips, passing
through heady incense, and mingling with the gentle singing voices
surrounding her. The quiet rhythms of the haunting dream melody had
shattered into a million shards, like a mirror broken from the sudden
force of a hammered fist.

She was conscious of the next strike before she had fully awakened,
its luminosity lighting her retinas through the blinds and her closed
eyelids. The subsequent crashing was immediate and close, shaking her
lungs and rattling the bed in which she lay.

She curled up, drawing the covers under her chin and softly whimpered.
She opened her eyes again, dreading the next strike, hoping that the
thunder would move away and leave her alone. She wasn't alone. His
face on the pillow beside her, softly illuminated by the dim light
from the window, was strong and relaxed in sleep. She looked at him
with envy, wondering how he could sleep through the storm and wishing
she could rejoin him in dreamscape. She reached out tentatively and
traced his cheek with one slender finger. He murmured and rolled over
at the touch, not waking.

Another strike, not as close, rumbled through the darkness. She jumped
at the flash and then again with the thunder moments later. Kathleen
swallowed, suddenly thirsty. Her heart reverberated a dull rhythm in
her ears.

Lifting the sheets damp with her perspiration, she swung her bare legs
from the bed and sat up. Another flash illuminated the room like an
eerie strobe. She cried out as the thunder washed over her, but her
small sounds were no match for the power of the storm. Her tiny cries
were the squeak of a mouse fighting the mighty roar of a wolf.

As she rose to her bare feet, the rain began to tumble to the earth,
released in a torrent of tears from the heavens above. Even through
the insulation of the attic, she could hear the staccato beat of the
rain against the shingles. She looked at the stippled ceiling above
her and silently thanked a higher power that she had a roof over her
head, and that she was warm and dry. Despite her protection from the
elements, she shivered. She hugged herself as she walked carefully out
of the room, leaving the prone man sleeping, blissfully unaware of the
storm or her distress. Her bare feet whispered across the hardwood and
down the flight of steps to the main level of the house.

She poured a tall glass of milk in the dim glow of the refrigerator
lamp. Sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, she could hear the
rain whipping into the glass of the windows. She cringed as something
heavy began to hit the house, the new beat low and dangerous.

She tightened, lowering her head to the table, her heart racing, her
stomach in knots. Tears threatened and spilled as another bolt of
light streaked across the sky, its roar carried and simultaneously
shattered by the wind.

She wanted to call for her father. Her father would protect her, stop
the storm, stop her fright, stroke her hair ever so gently until it
ended, infinitely patient with her. Her sisters had always made fun of
her, taunting her. Their voices echoed through her memory.

"Baby. Baby. Afraid of the thunder. Grow up little baby." She could
still hear their singsong voices tormenting her through the
intervening years.

Her father, long gone now, chastised the imps who couldn't possibly
understand, but it had only stopped them while in his presence.
Engulfing her small hand in his own, her father lead her to the
window, parting the curtains, showing her the storm, forcing her to
confront it, forcing her to confront herself, gently teaching her. He
had picked her up, at last, soothing her by the window, cradling her
in his arms, both of them staring out at a long ago thunderstorm. She
had been dry and safe in his arms as she had witnessed the fierceness
outside, her heart at last slowing to his soft murmurs.

She tried desperately to remember the lessons, tried to remember her
father, but even his face was obscured, and with his absence the fear
returned. Her heart ached and hammered as another bolt slammed into
the earth outside.

She found herself in front of the patio doors, her fingers touching
the blinds. She had no recollection of moving to the doorway. Glancing
back, her milk was unfinished, still sitting resolutely on the table.
As she parted the venetian blinds with a flick of her wrist, another
bolt of lightning showed its rage to the cowering land beneath. The
flash lit her, framing her in the glass of the doorway. Her bare
breasts uplifted, nipples painfully tight, as she caught her breath.
Her mostly nude body beckoned the storm as her toes gripped the tile
beneath her bare feet.

The neighbourhood was dark; it was sleeping or carefully ignoring this
storm venting the Gods' rage outside. She normally wouldn't have
exposed herself like this, in only her pink panties, but she had to
see the storm. Had to embrace it. Had to tame it. Her father had
taught her so long ago. She concentrated, willing it to end, willing
it to subside before her.

The Gods smiled down on her simple beauty and her determination. For a
moment, the winds died down, and the freezing hail ceased to descend.
Quiet gripped the world.

Kathleen sighed, silently shaking. As she turned away from the glass,
the Gods, perhaps upset at losing sight of her beauty, relinquished
their hold on the elements. Another crash of lightning lit up the gray
sky, turning it shades of pink and rose, blinding the girl into
stumbling away from the patio doors. A large maple shrieked in pain as
the thunder nearly shattered the glass protecting Kathleen.

As she sank to her knees, she glanced up at the clock lit bright blue
on the microwave. 4:24 AM. Her eyes had begun to adjust to the lower
light levels though streaks of orange suffused her vision. Tears ran
down her face, blurring the clock. She blinked once, trying to clear
her eyes of the moisture threatening to blind her. In a heartbeat, the
blue luminescence of the numbers flashed into darkness. The
refrigerator stumbled and fell silent. The rage of the storm
intensified in the sudden silence. Instead of being satisfied with the
damage it had wrought, the storm seemingly took joy in the cessation
of electricity, inspiring further violence.

Kathleen whimpered like a small child afraid of the monsters in the
dark. She desperately conjured up the image of strong arms, safety,
warmth and dryness. She rocked on her knees, silently crying,
paralyzed, staring at the rain thundering into the deck beyond her
gate of glass.

She closed her eyes, hugging herself below her breasts. Inhaling, she
took long deep breaths, still silently praying for forgiveness for
whatever sins she had committed. Again, her father's image came to
her, wrapping his strong arms around her, whispering comfort into her
ear, stroking her strawberry blonde tresses. She slowly opened her wet
eyes, actually feeling the arms around her. But it couldn't be her
father.

Slowly she turned her head, feeling soft breathing in her ear.

"The storm, isn't it?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"Come back to bed?" he asked her gently.

She took a deep breath. Not answering him, she spoke quietly, her
voice quivering. "Did I wake you?"

Even though he was kneeling behind her, gently pulling her back
between his knees, she could feel him smile. "No. Some small noise
woke me, and you weren't there. I figured you'd be here."

He tilted the glass against her lips and she drank her abandoned milk,
savouring the taste. She could feel the solidity of his arms, nearly
as firm as her father's, but not quite. She was grown now and solidity
was a relative measure. He lowered the glass after it was empty,
letting her catch her breath.

"The Johnson's maple isn't very happy either ..." her voice trailed off.

"And you like giving the neighbours a show?" he asked playfully as his
finger traced down across her bare nipple.

"I ... wasn't. I forgot my robe upstairs."

"It's alright. Power's off. No light to see you by. Only this." His
finger lightly traced down her other breast. She shivered against him
but made no move to avoid his caress. Distracted, her hammering heart
had slowed with his presence. His touch ignited a quicker, different
beating.

She closed her eyes and tried to return to the dream. Incense.
Singing. Women in white. Calm. The storm receded, though peripherally
she was aware of the hail and the intermittent flashes beyond her
closed lids.

She felt herself gathered in strong arms and lifted. She could almost
believe she was still eight, and her father was returning a
frightened, half asleep little girl to bed. Relaxing, finally, she
allowed her husband to carry her, felt him stumble at the last stair,
but didn't flinch. If the storm couldn't attack her in his arms, then
the threat of a short fall didn't frighten her either.

She felt his lips against hers as she was lowered to the bedclothes.
The rain intensified, beating as though to interrupt, furious that it
had been balked. She returned the kiss hungrily, reaching for him,
pulling him to her, kissing fiercely, biting gently at his upper lip.

She could feel her fingers tracing his skin, then removing the wispy
bit of pink cotton from her hips. She could feel his fingers touching
her, stroking her, teasing her as their lips met in satiny lushness.
Again, the storm receded, as though to give them privacy. Her body
responded, her sex tingling and pulsing slowly - pulsing as though to
the beat of the almost constant thunder crashing around her.

He entered her in one smooth motion. She cried out at the sudden
penetration, but immediately relaxed, enjoying the sensations of
fullness. She pushed herself against him, wanting him pressed into the
depths of her. Tears fell slowly from her eyes as she cried out
softly, again, her voice intermixing with the storm's rage.
Desperately, she moved with him, the waves of desire warring with the
shore of irrational fear. Slowly, her insistent passion eroded to the
centre of her being, the fierceness of the storm paled beside the
fires building in their slow kisses and motion. Vaguely, she could
hear the gentle squeaking of the bed through the white noise of the
storm, above even her soft sighs. His joining with her exorcised the
daemons of her fear. The waves built until she felt him stiffen inside
of her with a muffled cry, spilling gently into her. His final deep
thrust touched her, sending her cascading over the valleys and
mountaintops of her onrushing climax. As she arched into him, her head
fell back into the pillows, a bright light illuminated her senses. As
she screamed out his name, the thunder embraced her, driving its bass
into her core, joining her cry of triumph and pleasure.

As her pulse slowly returned to normal, she hugged him as the thunder
had embraced her moments ago. She held him close, laying her head upon
his shoulder, whispering nonsense quietly into his ear.

For a while they remained, comforting and near. The thunder had moved
away after the final strike of rage at her defiant pleasure. Kathleen
could feel her body demanding sleep, her eyes heavy and stinging. The
aftermath of the tempest and her satiation flowed through her like an
insistent whisper calling to her. Together, they lay, her head cradled
in the crook of his arm.

"Better?" he asked her sleepily.

"Have I told you I loved you lately?"

"I'll take that as a yes," he replied quietly.

"Oh yes," she sighed into his rapidly slowing chest.

She was aware when he fell asleep again, his breathing telling her.
She lay with him for some time, listening to the receding, ineffectual
rumbling of the storm seemingly in rhythm with his breathing.

Her body ached from the love making, but it was a nice ache. Pangs of
tears rose unbidden to her eyes. Carefully, she slipped out of his
sleepy embrace, padding across the hardwood again. She shivered, this
time because her body temperature had dropped. She hugged herself, but
didn't slip on the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door.

She opened the blinds covering the bedroom window. She quietly slid
the glass open, exposing the night. The distant rumble of the thunder
carried more clearly to her ears. The sweet smell of summer rain
infused her, and she inhaled it, savoured it, let it flow over her
senses. She had conquered it, defied the Gods once more. She shivered
as a cool wind caressed her bare breasts, raising small bumps as
though she'd stepped from the shower. Drips of water fell irregularly
from the roof onto the deck below, sounding like a faucet in need of
tightening. The neighbour's maple had fallen across the grass, mute
testament to the ferocity of the Gods. She would help the Johnsons
with tomorrow's clean up.

She sighed, feeling the heaviness of sleep invading her aching body.
As she softly closed the window, she heard the sudden hum of the
refrigerator fill the quiet house. The bedside clock flashed 12:00 in
bright red bursts, as though thankful to her for freeing it from exile.

She padded back to bed, slipping nude between the sheets. Warmth and
peace flooded through her skin. She curled up, tucking the bedclothes
back under her chin. Her musk permeated the room, mixing with the
smell of fresh rain, providing a calming, airy elixir. She cradled her
head against the familiarity of him, kissing gently at his chest. He
stirred, but didn't wake.

The storm passed. She listened to the last of the distant rumbles as
they faded into safe obscurity. It was as though the storm had never
been. Darkness and peace overtook her, and she gratefully joined her
mate in the world of dreams.

Her dreams were filled with gentle summer rain, women in white, and
incomprehensible words. But no thunder.








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