Alone In the Country
Kas 30, 2023 // By:analsex // No Comment
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I hold my breath, edging into the kitchen in my most silent manner, which isn’t silent in the slightest, and retrieve my deadliest looking kitchen knife. Which I know for a fact is as blunt as a spoon, but the man at my door doesn’t know this…and I hope he doesn’t get close enough to find out.
“Please, open the door!” He pleads again, the noise muffled by the wood of the door.
I press my face to the window and can still make out the bloody mess outside. Nobody ever comes up here, and seeing any face, let alone this bloodied up thug, is worrying.
He kneels, his fists raised, banging furiously on the wood, I stop to wonder how long my delicate door may hold out, and how I’ll struggle to get those stains out.
His face is obscured by shadows as his head hangs limply. But I can make out a mass of, what I can assume used to be, blonde hair. His clothes are smart, or once were, a suit, dark, well fitting, expensive looking, but ultimately torn and ruined. The rips revealing glimpses of a strong man. He is slim, a small frame, but toned, and the rips show lean and trained muscle.
Maybe he is a criminal…A hired killer, a hit gone wrong. Maybe he is a spy, government. He does have the body of a soldier…I’ve seen Leon the professional, the Bourne films. I know how it pans out.
My mind flits through endless and mainly ridiculous options, but as his strength begins waning and he presses his forehead against his forearm, I know I have to help him, for all I know, he’s a harmless chap whose been in a car crash! Well…from the damage I’m more inclined to say plane crash.
Out here in the middle of the countryside, I’m the only person in about a 32 mile radius. Basic electricity supported by a generator, no phone reception up here. A house given to me as a gift by a dying aunt I’d never met, who had no other family. When I left the foster home, it seemed my only option to move up here. And I have, for the past 4 years. I adore my peace of heaven. Writing in the peace and quiet of these hills. Well that was the plan.
However, back to business…If I didn’t want to have a corpse lying in my driveway, I would have to help. So I plaster on a brave face and scrape back the damp curls that stick to my sweating face.
I clutch my knife tightly, and slip it under the edge of the letterbox, opening it.
His cries have died out now, replaced by painful moans that make me squirm.
“Hello? Who are you?” I ask in what I hope was an authoritive voice, but the cracks in my voice show the cracks in my façade.
No reply…no words now, just moaning as a watch his body slump further and further towards the ground.
“How did you get here? What’s the matter!?” I try again, pressing my mouth close to the opening and shouting.
No reply. Fuck.
I suck in a long deep breath and clutch the door handle tightly. I swing the door open, taking a step back and raising my knife, the gust of wind hits me first, then he hits the floor.
His body crashes through the doorway and collapses in a dirty heap on my clean cream carpet. I let out a horribly girly squeal and fall onto my behind. His outstretched hand inches from my naked toes, both marred by splattering’s of his blood.
I stop, sitting motionless, watching for movement.
When I hear a gargled splutter from his mouth, I panic.
This man is going to die…on my floor…right now.
I haul myself on to shaky hands and knees and crawl over. At 7 stone something or other, I struggle to flip him onto his back, but as I grab the edge of his jacket, I manage. Oh… I can see his face better now. I start thinking how peaceful he looks, then halt that thought. It makes me think of cold grey dead people and awkward funerals, and then I see my parent’s faces…my sister’s face.
He suddenly opens his eyes and looks up at me. I see pain and fear and confusion in the midst of elegant emerald eyes. Intense.
“Are you okay? Can you talk?” I whisper. I don’t know why I whisper, but it’s all I can manage.
His hair is blonde; I can see it better in this light. It’s matted against his skin with blood and sweat. I move a piece out of the corner of one eye instinctively and wait for his reply.
“I..Just…water.” He moans, his accent is British, but I can’t make out where from. The words seeming to pain him. I wince at the strain in his voice, the blood trickling down his chin from the lip wound he just re-opened.
“Yes! Water! Stay there.” I say, stopping to realise how stupid it was…Where is he going to go?
I jump up, closing the still open front door, and dash behind into the kitchen. I fill a glass with water from the tap, seeming to have lost all motor skills, and managing to spray it liberally onto my self and the work surfaces before any makes it in the glass, my feet slip on the wet floor and I grasp the sink to hold myself steady.
I run back to find him where I left him. Obviously. And sink to my knees again by his head.
“Water.” I say again. Etimesgut Escort I lift his head as gently as I can in my hand, feeling for any cuts or bumps. Except for a particularly nasty gash across his eyebrow, I think the rest of his head is fine.
But he still makes a pained noise.
I press the glass to his lips and watch as he gulps it down, stopping only for short gasping breaths.
When he is finished I get him more. And he finishes most of that glass too.
“Th…Thank you” He mumbles, his eyes squeezed shut. He’s slipping into sleep again.
“I can drive you down to the hospital. Stay there!” I say, already standing to grab my coat of the banister. Trying to keep the thoughts of how long it would take to get him there, out of my head.
“NO!” I hear him, and I turn to see his eyes are wide open now and his bloodied hand out stretched.
“No…” He repeats quieter. The determination in his eyes halts me for a moment.
“You…you’re injured, you need a doctor!” I shout pulling on my coat and leaning down to grasp the lapels on his shredded jacket and trying to pull him up.
He grabs my hands in his, they envelope my tiny fingers completely, and I can feel the cool stickiness of the blood.
“Please. I…can’t” He whispers, looking right at me now. His eyes bright and pleading. Then he lays back and shuts his eyes again. Those eyes are so familiar, I can’t place it. But it warms me.
I struggle internally for a moment. Trying to wonder where this man is from, what happened to him. He seemed adamant about not going to the hospital. He must be a criminal. But he doesn’t look like one. I haven’t seen many. But he doesn’t seem too aggressive. Shit! I didn’t think.
Taking the chance as he lays unconscious I edge forward. And using just one finger, I nudge the front of his jacket open, looking for a weapon. When I don’t immediately see one, I lean in further, and press my hands against his pockets. Nothing. Nothing but a small business card shaped piece of metal. On the front is an engraved barcode and on the back “Luke Mallard”. I pocket that, I don’t know why.
I take another deep breath in and reserve myself to helping this man.
Seriously Kate, how the fuck do you get yourself into these situations?
Oh my lord. He looks slim…nope, weighs a fucking ton. I lumber up the stairs, dragging him behind me, my arms hooked under his armpits. If I stop, we both tumble down.
When I get to the top, I keep dragging, until we have reached the bathroom.
I’m no nurse, but I know first aid, and all this blood must be coming from somewhere.
I stop for a moment; he’s still motionless, lying face up in a heap on my bathroom rug. The exertion and adrenaline catches up with me and I have to stop for a moment to sit on the edge of my bath. My hands braced against the comforting cool of the tub. I watch him. His slow breathing, the sheen on his brow, the tension in his jaw.
I sigh again. Trying to prepare myself for what I find under his clothes, not just the welcome planes of a man’s body, that I have to admit I’ve missed, but more black and blue flesh …and red. More red.
I wake quickly, disorientated, my eyes burst open and the light burns. I try to sit up but my back aches…well all of me aches. I look around. I’m in a bed. Warm and soft, there’s several small battered teddies lying by my feet.
The room is a mis-match of kitsch furniture and colourful materials. It’s homely. All lace and roughed up old books. Strange. Alien.
I take a deep breath and remember last night. Going over the techniques they taught us to recall information. Banging on that door. I see flashes of deep brown eyes, soft wet lips and warmth. She saved me. A pyjama clad angel, with a halo of dark curls.
I look down at myself, lifting away the sheet slightly to reveal a mottled black and blue hunk of meat that used to be me.
There’s a large bandage just under my left nipple. I remember the knife slicing in and the pain renews. Ouch.
there’s a plaster over my eyebrow (the butt of that gun) and a bandage over the whole of my left foot (No idea what’s under there…many parts of last night are still a fuzz) But I do remember those tiny hands peeling away my jacket, soft and wary fingers skimming my bruised skin.
But besides that, I’m just all bruises, lots and lots of them…but nothing that won’t heal. My lip might be cracked too I think.
Need to pee.
I steady myself and roll. Stifling a groan. Sitting up as I reach the end of the bed and clenching my fists together, my nails bite into my palms, but it takes my mind off the rest of my screaming muscles. You’ve had worse, man up.
I sit, preparing myself to stand. I’m unsteady and wobbly, but one bad night doesn’t steal years of training away from you. In a few minutes I’m pacing the room steadily and the blood is flowing back through my limbs. It’s bittersweet to be moving again. At this point I also notice Escort Etimesgut my nearly nakedness. I vaguely remember being held under the warm jet of a shower. I’m in my underwear, but nothing else.
The door is open slightly; I poke my head out, quiet. I make a dash for the bathroom; I can see the toilet from where I stand. Yes this bathroom is familiar, as are the streaks of crimson yet to be scrubbed from the mat and bathtub.
Relief. Now I get a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Yep that lip is cracked. And my eye is swollen, but my face has fared better than my body. I scowl thinking about how fucking delighted Marcella will be, I’m sure the last things she said before she sent me on that suicide mission was “keep that pretty face in one piece.”
I do a quick scan of the last room upstairs, a study, a desk full of more old books, an old typewriter and pile upon pile of manuscripts. I can’t see a phone….they will want to be getting in touch with me soon.
Then I make my way downstairs. The first thing I notice is the large smudges of blood on the carpet, where I landed. Nasty, there’s spray up the walls in the surrounding area too. Nothing I’ve not seen before, but it’s different against this country cottage background. Wrong.
The kitchen is plain but the same lace and floral theme follows, a small smile plays at the corner of my mouth. This is not what I’m used to. There are pictures on the fridge. Her face brings back more memories of last night. My saviour. My saviour and some friends. My saviour in a car. my saviour and an old man, dad perhaps.
Finally I make it into the lounge. At first glance it looks empty as well. Deep brown leather couches covered in thick fur throws surround the fireplace. Someone was here; the embers are still glowing in the grate.
I hear a rustle and as the throw falls away I see that one of the couches is occupied. A small sleeping girl.
I know her immediately.
She’s tiny, a frail little thing. Even more so in real life than on the pictures. How she got me up those stairs, I’ll never know.
And she has a head full of thick brown curls that splay out all around her.
By some strange instinct she feels my presence, and her eyes prise open and widen. She stares at me, in a deer in the headlights way, and swallows hard.
“I’m not going to hurt you” I say. I feel like I have to convince her. She looks petrified.
I edge to the nearest couch and sit on the edge. This seems to calm her slightly.
“I wanted to thank you. What you did…I don’t. Thank you. You saved my life” I trip over the words. I have no idea what to say to this tiny creature.
I’m beginning to sweat, why am I so unnerved? But she puts me out of my misery.
“Don’t worry. Are you okay?” she sits up now, and a look of concern passes over her petite features.
I’m floored. She lets a strange bloody man into her house, cleans him up and takes care of him…she’s alone here. Vulnerable. Why is she doing this? I’m thankful she did though.
“Thanks to you yes.” I dare a smile, and get a shy one in return, that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Can I get you a cup of tea? A glass of water?” She stands up now, edging towards the door, but making sure to press herself close to the wall and avoid me.
She doesn’t question me though, what happened, who I am.
she gives me that empty smile again and leaves the room. I move to the couch closer to the fire to warm my hands.
As she returns, she sits back in her seat, putting us inches apart, which surprises me, and places the tray of tea on the table in front of us.
“How do you take it?” She asks, not looking me in the eye. She fears me, of course she does.
“White, one sugar please”
She pours it out slowly, laboriously, spilling hot water down the cups and swearing under her breath. I don’t interrupt. When she puts it in front of me, I smile and utter a thank you.
The next thing happens has my head spinning.
She leans in, in one bold quick move and presses her soft lips to mine.
I jerk back, shocked.
“I’m sorry! I don’t know why I did that!” she speaks before I have chance.
She presses her finger to her now pinker lips and touches where my lips just have, staring up at me with those bright scared eyes.
I don’t know what possesses me but I know I have to kiss her again, I lean in slowly, so she knows what I intend to do and watch her scared wide eyes close as I press my mouth more gently against hers.
He’s kissing me back, I don’t know why, I don’t know why I kissed him! My head aches with confusion and probably because all the blood in my head has gone south. I’ve wanted to kiss him since last night, I’d dragged him into bed and watched him sleep gently, all traces of blood gone, a few bruises to show for his pain, but his face was relaxed and his mouth open slightly, and I had an almost uncontrollable urge to press my lips Etimesgut Escort Bayan to his. He’s so much gentler than I imagined.
His hand comes up to my neck to cradle it and as a moan escapes my treacherous lips, his tongue finds entrance. It pressed warm and soft around my mouth; I taste a hint of blood and pull my mouth away. I feel my face pull down in a frown and I touch his sore lip, it looks red and aggravated. “Don’t stop, it doesn’t hurt” He mutters into my hand, kissing my fingertips.
I press my face into the crook of his neck and kiss the warm flesh there, my hands coming up to rest on his chest before they jump back.
“Shit, I forgot, I’m sorry!”
He rolls his eyes, huffs and proceeds to grab my waist and drag me into his lap, so I straddle him. This is new. Not me on top. But me with a man at all…
“I’m not made of glass! Now kiss me.” His voice is husky. It stirs things in me I haven’t felt for many years.
I comply, my soft body moulding around his hard flesh, strong arms come around to hold me closer as my mouth meets his again.
My stomach warms and a deep fluttering starts, I want this man. And I know he feels the same…I feel his agreement pressing into my thigh.
We both look down in unison at his arousal and he giggles. A sound that makes my insides turn to jelly. He surprisingly blushes and makes some mumbley attempt at an apology. I stop him by pressing my hand against the warm bulge. He breaths in sharply, and the air hisses through his teeth. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but my heart leaps at the realisation that I’m turning him on, pleasuring him.
My hands work on a mind of their own, audacious and naughty, and delve into his boxers quickly, wrapping around his length and pulling. His hips lift off the couch and I press my free palm against his chest to steady myself. His mouth opens as he sucks in a gulp of air.
He throws me down onto the couch and lies on top, peeling away my jumper and pulling my pyjama pants down before I even know what’s happened. I’m gasping and shaking when he settles back on top. I’ve never been one to be body conscious but I can’t help but panic at the idea of him seeing anymore.
“Cold?” He asks me, his face turning to worry at my distress.
I shake my head. I hope he understands what I need, and it’s not a blanket.
He must because next his boxers disappear and he’s sitting back on his heels between my legs. His beautifully hard length in his hand. Oh.
“Take it off” He says. His eyes darting to my breasts that at this point are heaving with my erratic breathing.
I sit up slightly and unhook the bra, throwing it to the floor and looking up at him. A blush creeps up my cheeks as he stares hungrily. My arms move to cover myself and he stops them.
“Don’t. Please. Perfect.” He moans, his hands moving from my arms to the underside of my breasts, he presses his thumbs against my nipples and leans forward to press his forehead to my stomach.
“Oh. God.” My mumbles into my flesh.
“Please. I need you.” I’m getting impatient now; the ache in my groin has become a burn. I’m going to combust.
He looks up into my eyes, and the deep green shines, a smile twinkles there.
My last strip of underwear disintegrates in his fingers and he’s there. So close.
He presses forward and my head tips back in silent approvable. Wow. Delicious. It fills me, the burn evaporating.
When my eyes find his face again, his eyes are clenched tight shut, he is still, his breath held.
I grind my hips against his, begging him to carry on. He grunts.
“No…Please” He moans.
“Have I hurt you?”
“No…I…I…This feels… I’m going to lose all my control with you.” His eyes still closed.
“Well lose it.”
His eyes open and he looks into mine. Then his lips are against mine again and his hips move sharply. Eliciting a gasp from me and another moan from him. A symphony of pleasure.
He gets into a rhythm, slow and heavenly. His forehead pressed against mine, little kisses gracing mine every so often.
His eyes are shut but his hands wander blindly down my body, my nipples, and my stomach, down to where we are joined.
They reach my sweet spot. I scream out and this encourages him, his hands moving faster, his hips jerking quickly. This must be hurting his aching body, but he doesn’t show it.
“I’m going to cum…” I grunt out, meeting his thrusts.
“Cum for me then…now” He whispers into my ear, his hot breath tingles down my neck, and I cum.
gloriously and slowly, it builds in my legs and I can’t stop the shaking. It takes over my whole body and I explode over and over.
I’m vaguely aware of his voice; his thrusting one last time and feeling the warmth flood me.
I open my eyes to find him wrapped over me, I’m warm and feel safe, a strange feeling for this situation I suppose. The fur rug has been pulled over our lower half’s, legs entwined.
He looks up at me, his eyes sleepy too. I grin at him, I can’t help it, I feel like a schoolgirl, but my mouth splits and I can’t help but smile.
“I don’t even know your name.” He says a guilty smile on his lips.
“Kate.” I mumble, not yet wanting to truly wake up.
“I’m Luke.” He replies softly.
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