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Subject: (ASS/M) RP Red Rain: One (F/m)
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* * * *
Red Rain
By L.Corvidae
Chapter One: Brown Eyed Girl
Wednesday, December Thirty-First, 1997
In theory, the party at Harry’s rental place was supposed to be for a bunch
of us to get together and watch the New Year’s fireworks display. December had
been unseasonably warm and the city had decided to hold it over the lake that
year.
In practice, Harry’s back yard quickly became a mob scene; teeming with
twenty-somethings looking to get wasted and get laid. In retrospect, so was I.
A few of us had formed a cheesy jazz combo, and Harry lured us into bringing
our instruments with us and providing some entertainment, before the real show
started, with the promise of free beer. As if anybody else seemed to be paying
for theirs. Jon showed up with a few drinks in him already and Dan disappeared
not long after along with a blonde he’d been eyeing; so we ended up playing two
whole songs before calling it quits.
Like most houses on the lake, Harry’s was situated at the wider end of a
wedge-shaped parcel of land, about forty feet from the shore. An eight foot
tall wooden fence on one side, and closely planted trees with a hedge on the
other, formed the border to his property; ever narrowing the closer one got to
the water. Eventually, it thinned to the point that the actual amount of beach
that Harry could lay claim to with his “beach front” house was only about ten
feet wide. Ordinarily the yard felt spacious enough, a little too open if
anything; but with sixty-plus partying hearty within its confines the place was
giving me a bad case of claustrophobia.
It had been raining all morning so everything was wet. Still, I found a
moderately dry stump at the perimeter of the crowd, slung my saxophone over my
back and sat down to watch the parade of strangers pass by; half of whom I
probably should have remembered from high school, but didn’t. Someone put
Harry’s speakers in a window and soon music was again wafting above the heads
of the oblivious revelers. It was an old CD. Seal. Kissed By A Rose.
I was finishing up my second cup of beer and getting ready to split when I
saw her.
She was of average height, though she looked taller on account of her long,
willowy limbs and her graceful, swanlike neck. Her long, wavy hair was brown,
and her face was like one of those characters from a Japanese cartoon - all
eyes. Deep, brown eyes, like mahogany, that scanned the throng with the
intensity of a lighthouse beacon. For a moment, they locked onto mine and I
shivered. Then they moved on again, passing me over as if I were nothing.
She looked young, too young. I’d have mistaken her for an eleventh-grader
trying to play with the big kids, but those electrifying eyes did not belong to
any teenager.
She had on a top of black crushed velvet, and tight fitting leather pants
that matched. She started walking towards me, her hips swaying in perfect sync
with the drifting music as if she alone could hear it. As the rolling fog of
human bodies parted before her, I could see that she was walking barefoot on
the grass.
I was not alone in my admiration, as another young man, bombed out of his
skull if the way he was staggering was any indication, sidled up to her,
blocking her way, and began talking. She didn’t even seem to notice him at
first, despite his being right up in her face. Then, she fixed her stare
directly into his red watery eyes. She didn’t say a word, at least her lips
didn’t seem to move, but he suddenly stumbled backwards, as if struck.
I didn’t notice where he skittered away to. She was standing right in front
of me, leveling the full brunt of her gaze upon me.
“Do you actually play that thing,” she said, pointing to my sax, “or do you
just wear it to parties to impress the ladies?”
“What would you like to hear?” I asked, trying to sound cocky and
unimpressed.
“Harlem Nocturne, if you know it,” she replied, equally aloof.
I grinned smugly in reply, slid my instrument back around my torso, and took
a deep, even breath. Wetting my lips before placing them over the reed, I
waited a heartbeat and then began to blow.
The brassy squall of the horn turned many heads. It wasn’t a very long
piece, but it was showy. I can’t say I played the best I ever had, but I
certainly gave it my all, hitting a minimum of flat notes, and most of those
during the bridge, which I’ve always found a little tricky.
Throughout it all, she kept her eyes riveted on me. The shouts of
encouragement and catcalls seemed to melt away under the powerful aura of her
attention.
As the last note faded, cheers and applause started up amongst the other
spectators only to be cut short as the first shell burst in the air behind
them, bathing everything in a deep crimson light.
Everyone turned to watch, except her.
“So?” I asked her.
“So?”
“You tell me. Do I actually play this thing, or is it just to impress the
ladies?”
Behind her, the skies had erupted into vast green infernos and glittering
gold comets.
“A little of both, I’d say,” she replied, which was the answer I’d been
hoping for. She offered me her hand, which I’d been hoping for as well.
Instead of leading me back to the house, or the impromptu parking lot in the
front yard, she pulled me through the crowd and onto the thin strip of beach.
Tugging at my arm, she kept traveling laterally, moving from Harry’s property
to the neighbor’s; then onto another’s, and another’s. The rows of tress or
fences or low stone walls separating each property from the other typically
only stretched as far as their lawns reached, leaving the strand open.
Most folks were having parties in their yards like Harry, although some were
merely content to relax on the back patios with a beer in hand. None of them
looked pleased to see us trespassing along their patch of sand; but no one said
anything either. Each house we passed was lit by a staccato of blues, greens,
golds and especially reds. In one flash, a group of indigo strangers glared at
us from around a barbecue pit. The next instant, a different set of scarlet
faces peered at us warily from patio furniture.
The shoreline began to curve, and the sand made way for a hillock covered in
long, unkempt grass. We picked our way through the weeds and back down the
other side, where the sand returned. There was a fifty yard stretch of
undeveloped beach before disappearing for good as the earth rose dramatically
to become a steep, rocky slope. Just before that point, there was a house.
It was built part way into the side of the hill. The floor plan was an
elongated pentagon, and it looked a little like a ship, with the prow jutting
out to meet the lake at an angle. There was a wood deck that wrapped around
most of the first story, and the roof came together in a high, sharp peak, with
a gable over the front door.
We were perhaps twenty feet away when the skies burst into one final, ear
ringing, eye-popping finale. Then a thick silence descended over the entire
lake; marred only by a distant sizzling. We kept walking, but it began to get
to me, so I finally said, “My name’s Jordan, by the way.”
“Hello, Jordan,” she replied tonelessly.
There were stone steps set in the side of the hill that led to the front
door, and wooden stairs that led up to the deck on the other side. By keeping
to the water’s edge, we ended up at the feet of the latter.
She climbed up onto the first step, and then turned to me and said, “You
favor you left leg when you walk.”
“Yes,” I answered uncomfortably.
“It’s very slight, but I pay attention to the way people move.”
“It was broken a while ago.”
“I pay attention to the words people choose to use, too, Jordan.”
I wondered what that meant, but she didn’t elaborate and started up the
steps.
The back part of the deck overlooked the lake and had a hot tub set into it
at the farthest end. There was a set of sliding glass doors leading into the
house and she slid them open by pressing her palm against the glass and
shoving.
With the door opened, she turned back to me again.
“It must have been a bad break, if you’re still limping after all this
time.”
“It was,” I said, begging her with my eyes to let the matter drop.
She was about to step through the door, when she again halted, and, on a
whim, turned to offer me her hand.
“Camille,” she said.
“Nice to meet you Camille,” I replied, taking her hand in mine and planting
a gentle kiss upon it.
Holding hands, we crossed the threshold together.
The interior was impressive. The second story only covered two thirds of the
available area, allowing the walls of the living room to soar all the way to
the roof. One of the rooms upstairs had railings instead of walls, making it a
sort of balcony. An open kitchen area was situated directly underneath it; and
there was a stairwell leading up and down, which was just off of sitting in the
exact center of the structure. On one side of the “prow” was the fireplace, and
on the other an enormous entertainment center. A long sofa upholstered in gray
leather allowed one to cozy up and watch either a fire or the evening news.
Matching easy chairs were positioned at both ends. Directly behind the sofa, in
the middle of the room, sat a massive fish tank up on a broad, boxy stand. I
knew virtually nothing about fish, but there were many different types swimming
around; all of which were brightly colored, and therefore seemed terribly
exotic.
Behind me, the sliding glass door slid shut and suddenly she was upon me. She
slammed me against the wall next to the mammoth TV, knocking the breath loose
from my lungs and sucking it away from me, hungrily. Her hands closed around my
wrists and she pinned my arms out to the sides. I was in too much shock to do
much of anything, except grow hard in appreciation for the way her firm, hot
body felt as she ground it against mine.
Somehow, I regained my senses, and gently tried to push her back. There was
a brief struggle, and then she allowed herself to be moved; but not before
taking my tongue between her teeth. Their hard, sharp edges sliding across the
soft, vulnerable muscle. I shivered as the tip finally popped free.
She was looking at me with a contrite little half-smile. “Is something not
to your liking?” she asked, her voice dripping with false innocence.
“Just wondering what the rush is.”
“I see,” she said, her body relaxing, “you’re one of those.” She walked over
to the sofa and sat down, crossing her legs in a most ladylike manner.
“Okay, Jordan. Take off your clothes for me.”
It took a second for her words to reach my adrenaline-addled brain. As I
fumbled for my belt, she threw back her head and laughed.
“Now who’s in a hurry?” she taunted. “Take off your shirt, first.” Then, as
an afterthought - “Please.”
I didn’t remember my shirt having quite so damn many buttons when I put it
on, but I fumbled my way through them and shrugged it off. As I reached for the
hem of my undershirt, she chided me.
“Slowly, if you please.”
So, I pulled it up slowly, gradually exposing my abdomen and chest. She
hummed thoughtfully as each new inch of flesh was exposed.
“You were an athlete.” she said flatly.
“Yeah. Basketball.”
“Until you broke you leg?”
I ducked my head down, my cheeks turning red.
“I quit just before.”
“I see. Shoes.”
I kicked them free and leaned against a tall, slim bookcase to peel off my
socks.
She got up off the couch and sauntered over to me, pressing one hand firmly
against my bare midriff. She looked into my eyes and smiled seductively,
circling around behind me, keeping her hand pressed securely against my abs.
Standing on her toes, she was tall enough to press her crotch into my ass,
which she did with slow, firm grinding motion. I was trembling with the need
for her to touch me more; to touch me there.
She reached her other hand around my waist and began to unbuckle my belt. I
could feel it slide around my body as she pulled it loose. Her hands then moved
to undo the button on my pants, and, almost daintily, undid my fly.
She pulled away from me, and I moaned as my pants dropped unhindered down my
legs.
She strode back in front of me, her eyes pointedly focused on the bulge in
my underwear. I squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny, and in retaliation I
stared with an equal lack of subtlety at the gentle swell of her chest. She
was, at best, a B-cup; but that didn’t interest me as much as the two tiny,
distinct bumps that I was convinced I could see, even through the rich
material. It was immensely gratifying to believe I had her interest as much as
she had mine. Although, I would later have to admit to myself that it the air
outside had been pretty nippy.
She knelt; the move startling in it suddenness.
“You weren’t anticipating coming home with anyone tonight, were you?” she
asked, grinning.
“Why do you think that?” I stammered.
She poked a finger through a hole in the cotton; her fingertip tickling one
of my balls.
“You would have worn less ratty underwear.” If I’d been flushed and blushing
before, my whole head turned bright crimson at that. The fact was, she was dead
right.
Her other hand darted at my crotch and before I could react, she had wedged
several fingers into the hole and suddenly ripped my drawers apart with one
quick tug. Even the elastic, worn out from years of service, offered no
resistance.
The shreds of my underwear slid down my leg; and I was at last totally
exposed to her.
She smiled, pursed her lips just millimeters away from the florid tip of my
cock, and stood up and walked away.
She moved to the wall, and leaned up against it in an odd way; facing it, as
if she were expecting a frisking.
“Unzip my top,” she ordered.
I had to lean into her, in order to get at the zipper, and she rolled and
thrust her leather-covered ass against my prick, eliciting groans of
frustration and delight from me.
She turned around, shedding the velvet like a snake escaping old skin. Her
ribs poked out with alarming definition underneath breasts that covered a lot
of area, but weren’t that full.
I couldn’t have cared less. I dropped to a crouch and clamped my mouth down
over smooth, salty skin. Her nipple had the firmness of a pencil eraser. I
alternately sucked and nibbled at it; my tongue flickering away at the rubbery
flesh with abandon.
Her fingers slipped through my hair, stroking softly as she sighed with
pleasure. Then, her fist closed without warning. I cried out into her breast in
surprise and indignation as she forcibly dragged my head over to her other tit.
When she released her grip I calmed down and began to resume my ministrations,
a touch less eagerly than before, though.
When she’d had enough, she placed her hands on my shoulders and shoved me
away. She strutted to back over to the sofa and propped herself up against the
back of one of the easy chairs.
“Get me out of these pants,” she ordered.
I was shaking with anticipation by that point and my hands reached out
awkwardly towards her crotch. She seized my wrists and looked me in the eye.
“Be a little more creative, do.”
My thoughts raced around my head as I tried to think of some other way. I
know it sounds obvious, but at the time I was honestly trying to figure out
some way to grasp the tiny zipper between my toes. Fortunately, my hormones did
not completely lobotomize me, and I lowered myself to my knees.
She kept a tight hold on my wrists until I was at face level with her
crotch. She relaxed her grip then, but did not release me altogether. I tipped
my face in towards her bellybutton and took the pliant leather between my
teeth.
Luckily for me, the top button was a snap. I nudged the newly-created flap
apart, nuzzling her tummy with the tip of my nose. Then I gently bit down on
the delicate little zipper and started to tug it carefully southward. The click
of each set of teeth coming undone reverberated in my mouth. My nose slid along
the soft, smooth, damp surface of her panties.
Even undone, her pants clung to her body. I titled backwards and got a quick
glimpse of red satin covering her promised land. She still hadn’t let go of my
arms, so balance was a problem, and I could feel cramps starting up in my
calves. She gave my wrists a squeeze, setting me to work, peeling the dark
leather from her creamy, if sweaty, skin.
Rewarding work it was, too; as my cheeks were continuously being rubbed
against the swell of her hips or the musky, tantalizing flesh of her inner
thighs.
When the pants finally lay in a wadded bunch around her ankles, she stepped
out of them, bringing her body right up next to mine; and lifted me to my feet.
I was astonished at the strength contained within those skinny arms.
She let released me, only to reach down between my legs and take my manhood
in her hands. Her grip was firm, as before, but not uncomfortably so. Just the
opposite: I shuddered at the thought of cumming in a swift, premature
explosion.
“You seem pretty tightly wound down here, stud,” she said in a breathy voice
that made my excitement that much worse. “Are you sure you’re not just going to
go off at the opening bell? Because I’d hate to think that I’m wasting my time
here with a man who can’t go the distance, Jordan.”
“No.” My voice cracked with lust. “I swear I can last!”
“We’ll see,” she replied, not sounding convinced.
I groaned as she let go of me and moved away. She pushed the sliding glass
door open again; and motioned for me to follow her out onto the back deck. I
winced as the acrid smell of gunpowder overpowered my nostrils.
The air was chilly and still, and a thick cloud of smoke hung over the
lake’s eerily placid surface. Her thin, pale body was like some child-goddess.
She was beautiful, and I wanted her.
She turned to face me and leaned up against the railing. She spread her legs
wide, taunting me with those flimsy red panties. My cock was so hard that it
could have etched glass.
“Kneel,” she said haughtily.
At first I just sort of gawked at her. Then, carefully trying to avoid the
puddles of rainwater that spotted the deck, I lowered myself back onto my
knees.
I started crawling towards her, literally salivating at the thought of
tasting the tender flesh hidden behind that satin. But she lifted up her right
leg and pushed her foot into my shoulder, holding me at bay.
“Not yet soldier,” she informed me. “First let’s clear your chamber of any
live rounds you might be carrying.”
I stared at her blankly for a moment, then, realizing what she meant, began
to blush. It’s funny how I could be totally unselfconscious about ramming my
dick into her most private of places, yet the thought of playing with it myself
in front of her could be so humiliating.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, her tone mocking. “Do you need a little
encouragement?” She slipped one hand inside her panties and I could hear the
sound of her parting her lips, almost like the sound of a kiss. Then she
withdrew her fingers, which glistened with moisture in the light coming from
the house, and gracefully slid them into her waiting mouth.
Humiliating or not, I began to jerk off like a madman.
In contrast to my furious self-abuse, Camille slid her hand back under the
waistband of her undies, languidly fingering herself. The muscles of her foot
tensed against my collarbone and she made a faintly erotic murmuring in the
back of her throat.
I’m not proud, but it only took about a minute and a half of frenetic
yanking before my cock started shooting big globs of pearly spunk all over the
place. I was so focused on that rippling triangle of fabric that I hardly felt
the endorphin rush.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t concentrating on where all my sperm was going,
either. A big, shiny dollop landed squarely on the instep of her left foot.
Her angry glare was terrifying. I almost began to cry. I was beyond all
conscious, rational understanding of my actions. All my male ego and pride had
burned away, leaving only an oppressive cloud of lust behind; so thick that not
even the release of an orgasm had dissipated it in the slightest.
I dropped to my hands, her right knee bending to accommodate the move, and I
stretched my tongue out and licked my seed from the side of her foot. There
wasn’t that much, but it filled my mouth with its slimy texture and its nasty,
salty taste.
When I had finished I looked up at her, directly into her crotch; her face
staring down at me from some unimaginable Olympian height.
“If you’re finished indulging your foot fetish,” she said, sounding curt,
yet amused, “I would like to have sex sometime before President’s Day.”
Sheepishly, I dragged myself to my feet, and followed her inside.
Her bedroom was not at all what I’d expected. The walls had understated
Victorian wallpaper, while a vanity and a chest of drawers looked like
authentic Georgian pieces. The four-poster canopied bed was a reproduction
meant to vaguely match the other furniture. What particularly caught my eye was
a rainbow-hued pile atop the dresser. Apparently she collected those Beanie
Baby things and by the looks of it, she had most all of them, no mean feat.
Camille strolled around to the side of the bed, and fished around for
something in the drawer of a night table. She motioned me over to her and
dangled a small, square packet in my face.
“No arguments,” she said. I shrugged it off, relieved that at least one of
us was prepared.
She unwrapped the condom, and slowly rolled the latex over my quivering,
almost spastic, penis.
“You reload this thing fast, don’t you?” she quipped, archly.
“When I’m, uh, inspired...”
Her smile showed a lot of straight, white teeth.
“What else can you do when you’re inspired?”
I kissed her. Our mouths grappled one another and this time I pushed her:
backwards onto the bed.
She let out a whooping laugh as she flopped onto her back, and spread her
legs apart invitingly.
I’m a quick study when I have to be, and as I pressed my face between her
thighs, I took the smooth satin in my teeth; the scent of her pussy - arousing,
not unclean - overwhelming me.
I yanked her panties off with four sharp tugs, and she whooped again in
delight. I got an eyeful of pitch-black fur and luscious, swollen lips. She was
leaking precious fluid, and I fixed my mouth to her and began to drink.
Thrusting my tongue into her, I found her clitoris. Her sighs became cries.
I tongue-fucked her pussy; reveling in its smell, in its taste, in its silky
smooth texture. In the process, I got a vague sense of her heartbeat and began
to meet its rhythm. She started to shove her pelvis into my face, fucking my
tongue right back. Clear, sweet juice cascaded down my chin and dribbled all
up and down my jawline. She began to pant loudly; and at the end of each
labored breath came a whimper.
As her back began to lift off the bed, I tore my mouth away, and began to
claw my way onto the bed, slithering my naked form on top of hers.
She recovered quickly from the brink of orgasm. Her dreamy eyes snapped open
and her lips pulled back into an impish grin. Suddenly we were wrestling; her
girlish giggling filling my ears even as her strong, lithe body twisted and
squirmed beneath me. We rolled, and she came out on top, beaming triumphantly.
If that was how she wanted it, I didn’t care, so I went limp - almost.
She studied my face like a hawk, suspecting some trick; but when she was
convinced, she let go with one hand. She slid it along my side, tickling me;
before caressing my hip and taking my cock into her palm. She guided me into
her, and with a husky grunt, thrust herself upon me.
At first we made no sound; save for the rude, wet noises of our bodies
commingling. There was no other way to describe it except that she was
literally humping me. She would slam her hips down to meet my feeble upward
thrusts; the upper part of her body held stiffly. She was propping herself up
by firmly grasping my shoulders; and as we progressed, her grasp grew tighter
and tighter, slowly sinking her nails into my skin.
And yet, in the midst of all of that, I was still barely aware enough to try
and resist cumming, at least until she had climaxed as well; despite it being
painfully unnatural to fight against it. Every cell in my body shrieked to
explode; and I wondered if I wouldn’t burst apart with a wet popping sound when
I finally did cum and dissolve into a puddle of slime.
Camille’s body bent backwards as she made one final titanic thrust,
squashing my hips deep into the mattress. Her head ducked down violently, sweat
soaked strands of hair whipping my face and stinging my eyes. From deep in her
chest, she made a small, high-pitched squeak of surrender; and she came.
She held that position rigidly, while inside, the post-orgasmic spasms of
her vaginal muscles teased my penis to the brink of rapture. Then she dropped
on top of me like a sack of hot, sweaty potatoes.
I lay there, not quite believing, as her heavy breathing rasped in my ears.
One more thrust, one more twitch of her womb, and I would have joined her in
bliss. Yet I could not bring myself to make that final selfish push; and so I
lay there, pinned beneath her, as my cock shriveled up, still ensconced in her
womanhood.
I wondered idly how many women had gone home with someone from Harry’s party
and now found themselves in a similar situation; wanting more, their lovers
spent. It comforted me a little to think that my disappointment in some small
way balanced the scales for the selfishness of my fellow sex. That, and, I
knew that if I was an asshole about it, there wasn’t going to be any second
time.
As my thoughts drifted on such matters, long after all threat of any
ejaculation was over, Camille began lapping at the perspiration on my neck. A
sudden, not-at-all-playful bite caused me to cry out in outrage and try to buck
her. Giggling, she slid off of me and got unsteadily to her feet.
“I have to pee,” she said simply.
Seeing that trim, round ass waggle as she walked out of the room was enough
to bring my hard-on back to aggravating fullness.
Karmic justice or not, I was still horny as hell. I took my erection in hand
and began masturbating; the rubber still slick with her juices. I closed my
eyes and let my mind drift back to scant seconds earlier, and within no time
flat I was flooding the reservoir at the tip of the condom. I sighed with some
small measure of satisfaction.
I stripped my spent shaft of its rubber sheathing, wiped myself off with
some Kleenex from her bed table and tossed the messy lot of it into a small
waste basket by the vanity.
I was just sitting back down on the edge of the bed when she returned,
brushing her teeth.
“It’s nearly two-thirty,” she informed me. “Do you want to sleep here?”
“Uh, yes. Please.”
She shrugged as if it hardly mattered to her, then went back into the
bathroom to rinse. Upon reentering the bedroom, she turned out the lights and
we crawled under the sheets together. My first impulse was to put my arm around
her, but she shoved it away.
“Go to sleep, Jordan,” she said, her tone flat and unfriendly.
But I didn’t sleep; couldn’t sleep. I lay awake all night listening to her
breathing as it rose and fell while she slept. I wanted so much to put my head
on her chest and listen to her heartbeat. I wanted just to touch her at all,
anywhere. The nearness of her body was agonizing.
After an eternity, the first light of the new year broke through her bedroom
window.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Note: Comments and feedback are always welcome. Unfortunately, as the story
grows in size, it becomes increasingly difficult to honor requests for missing
chapters. Please try searching Deja News or similar forums. That way, I have
more time to actually write. :)
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Hey where did we go, days when the rain came.
Down in the hollow, playin' a new game.
Van Morrison, Brown Eyed Girl
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