Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Windspectre (2 page)

He was pushing into her with just the slightest degree of pain but it was a throbbing ache that was more pleasure than hurt. It pressed possessively against her womb as though striving to enter her there, to leave a mark, the irrevocable seed of his being that claimed her entirely his. So hard was he, so thick and steely that Cathleen felt completely filled with his shaft. She imagined herself impaled upon his fleshy weapon, a sacrifice to his wanton desire.

In and out he drilled that meaty piston into her. His cock slid unerringly within her and drew from her cunt more moistness to lubricate his passage. He pressed deeper, pushed harder, their bodies slapping against one another as his rhythm increased.

Cathleen was lost to the sensations that were rocketing through her body. Her breasts felt heavy and her nipples ached with the need to be suckled. Barely had the thought entered her mind before unseen lips latched onto a nipple and drew upon that throbbing flesh.

"Ahh," she moaned.

Hands were everywhere on her body—touching, stroking, lightly scratching, and plucking. Something small yet firm entered her anus then began moving in and out with purpose. A tongue drove into each ear, then pressed between her lips to duel with her own tongue. That stiff, unrelenting cock was sliding faster, harder, more deeply.

It was a dream, but what a dream, she thought as she gave herself up to the beginnings of a crashing fulfillment she could feel was but a thrust or two away. She was tingling from head to toe—even her scalp as tickly as the hairs stirring on her upper thighs. Sensation after sensation was bombarding her, enveloping her and as the wind outside skirled to an eardrum-shattering volume, the first wave of pleasure rippled through her.

"Oh!" Cathleen cried out, her nails digging deep furrows into the leather of the car seat.

Wave after wave after wave of supreme satisfaction flowed through her, washed over and around her until she was floating on a cloud of pure carnal gratification. Every pore of her skin was alive and felt like a tiny mouth gasping with enjoyment. Nerve endings sang. Muscles tensed and released and tensed again only to stretch out and unravel in one unending skein of fulfillment. Juices overflowed. Her womb quickened and she shuddered long and hard as a mind-altering climax reached up to shake her very foundation.

He was in her. He was atop her. He was surrounding her with strong, possessive arms that held her tight and kept her entirely to him. His staff had claimed her, branded her, and his mark was now upon her, deep inside her for all time. She was his.

"And mine you will stay, Cathleen Kaisand,"
he vowed.

Lightning speared through the night just as his cock had driven through her and Cathleen flinched, her eyes coming open as the afterglow of the glare washed away from the rain-soaked night sky. The wind was yowling and thunder rumbled, shaking the car beneath her.

Panting, her heart pounding, and blood racing through her arteries, she sat up and threw the blanket aside. She was trembling, sweating. She swallowed hard and wished she had something to quench the parched dryness of her mouth. Running the back of a quaking hand across her mouth she tried to get her emotions under control. So loud was her heart thundering she could hear it over the slash of the rain overhead.

"What a dream," she said, fanning her hot face. She pressed her hand to her chest and strove hard to slow her breathing.

The car's windows were fogged and when another flash of lightning stair-stepped from the heavens, she squinted against the glare formed on the windshield's glass, turning her head away from the harsh intrusion.

There was a strange smell permeating the car and it overpowered Cathleen. Risking rain blowing in through the passenger window, she thumbed the control on her door and lowered the glass a few inches. Almost immediately cold air blew through the cockpit, but brought with it the clean smell of ozone.

Though she felt as weak as a newborn kitten, Cathleen was wide awake and refreshed from her nap. She twisted the key in the ignition until the dashboard lights came on and was amazed to see it was only half-passed midnight.

"Talk about a power nap," she mumbled.

Adjusting the seat back to driving mode, she cranked the car and turned on the defroster to clear the windshield. She switched on the headlights and flipped on the wipers, then sat there listening to the swish of the blades across the glass until her view was no longer obscured. Though the rain continued to fall in lashing sheets, she could make out the rest area fairly well. There were no cars out on Route 44, no bead of headlights in the distance either way. With one last wipe of her face with the palm of her right hand, she put the vehicle into gear and pulled back onto the road.

Chapter Two

The motel clerk looked oddly at her as Cathleen filled in the registration card.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" he asked.

Cathleen looked up. "Yes. Why?" she queried as she pushed the card under the slot of his window.

"Well, you look a mite pale," the older man answered. He checked the registration, took Cathleen's money, and then turned to unhook a key from a pegboard beside his desk. "Room 126. To the right and down half-way."

"Could I leave a wakeup call for 8 a.m.?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll make a note of it." Once more the night clerk gave Cathleen a puzzled look. "You didn't pick up no hitchhikers, did you, lady?"

Cathleen laughed. "That's something I never do."

"Ain't good to do so," the man stated. "Especially not along Route 44."

Incomprehension drew Cathleen's dark brows together. "Why is that?"

"You never heard the legends about these parts?"

Shaking her head, Cathleen picked up the key. "I'm not from around here. I'm on my way to Bridgewater to work for WindGenInc."

"Good company to work for, I hear," the clerk told her. "Hope you do right well there."

Smiling, Cathleen pocketed the key. "What kind of legend were you talking about?"

The clerk shrugged. "There's an old tale about a red-headed man what gets into people's cars on lonely dark nights. He terrorizes them and has been known to do some really frightening stuff."

"I think every state has such legends," Cathleen said with a chuckle. "I'm originally from Florida and there were several tales like that about ghostly hitchhikers on the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. I took that bridge many a night when I lived in Tampa and I can tell you I had neither a male nor a female ghost hitch a ride with me."

"Well, you are doing right by not picking up anyone you don't know," the clerk said. "In this day and age, ain't nothing safe."

Thanking the man for his concern, Cathleen left the motel office. It was still pouring rain and she was tired of fighting driving in such inclement conditions. She drove down to the room she'd been assigned and parked. Deciding not to bother with her bags until morning, she ventured out into the slashing deluge and ducked under the overhang.

The motel room smelled musty and damp, the air chilly but already the heater—controlled from the office—was ticking as it came to life. The twin full-sized beds were draped with garish quilted bedspreads that had seen far too many washings and the curtains didn't match the pattern on the spreads. A lone chair sat beside a small round table scarred with water rings. An older model television set perched atop a long, low dresser with a slightly askew mirror.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Cathleen said as she turned to double lock the door and pull the curtains closed. She tossed her purse on the bed closest to the door, deciding she could have done worse in accommodations.

The first thing she'd done upon entering the motel office was purchase two soda pops, both surprisingly cold, from the vending machine and had downed one can as she spoke to the clerk. She placed the second one on the nightstand between the two beds.

"I'll bring you down some ice and the remote control," the clerk had promised.

"Don't bother," Cathleen had replied. "I won't be watching TV tonight."

When she turned on the light in the bathroom, she was pleasantly surprised to find it was clean even though the tile surrounding the tub area was cracked in several places. A black residue of mold sketched along some of the grout lines. Rust ran from the spout to the pop-up drain in a wavering line and the remains of what had once been gaily-colored blue butterfly decals still clung tenaciously to the tub bottom. On a small triangular shelf beneath and to the right of the crooked shower head, was a bar of guest soap in its plain beige wrapper.

At least the towels and washcloths smelled fresh and clean. The fixtures—though having seen much better days—were pitted and chipped, scratched and dented, but they were clean and brightly polished. The normal provisions of facial and body soaps, toilet paper, tissue, and shampoo/conditioner sat forlornly in a frayed wicker basket atop a threadbare washcloth on the vanity top.

"The No Frills Motel," Cathleen allowed, thinking that finding the motel soon after leaving the rest stop had been a godsend. She laid the room key on top of the television set so the maid could find it easily the next morning.

The shower had looked inviting and Cathleen felt grimy. Her clothes—pullover and tailored slacks—seemed to be sticking to her flesh from the dampness. After a longing look at the bed, she decided she'd fetch her bag after all. Fishing in the pocket of her trousers, she took out her keys and headed for the trunk of her car.

Coming back in from the downpour that showed no signs of letting up, her bare feet stinging from the cold of the concrete walkway out side, Cathleen re-locked the twin security devices and swung her bag onto the bed she wouldn't be sleeping in. She took out her nightgown and tossed it on the foot of the bed in which she'd sleep, the one closest to the bathroom. Her travel kit she carried to the bathroom, laying her brush and comb and hair dryer on the chipped counter top. Her razor, toothbrush holder, and toothpaste she placed on the triangular shelf in the tub.

A shower, a quick run of the razor over her legs and under her arms, a thorough brushing of her teeth as the water cascaded down on her and she'd be primed for a good six hour nap.

Going back into the sleeping area, she took off her clothes and hung them up in the little open closet area, folding her bra over one of the metal hangers as well. Her soiled panties, she took to the laundry bag she kept in her overnight bag, removing a fresh pair to drape them beside her bra for the morning. She went over to drop the car keys she'd removed from her pant pocket into her purse on the other bed.

Naked, she padded into the bathroom and shut the door, flinging the shower curtain shut and twisting on the water, adjusting its temperature from the faucet before turning the handle on the shower and stepping back to wait for the stream to pulse from the cockeyed head. When she was satisfied the water was just as she liked it, she slipped behind the curtain and beneath the warm onslaught of pleasure that cascaded in a very surprising, satisfying stream from the lime-coated head of the shower.

Steam quickly filled the bathtub as Cathleen lathered one of the thick washcloths with the soap she'd unwrapped, snaking her hand out from behind the curtain to drop the wrapper into the little wastebasket beside the toilet.

She closed her eyes as she ran the rag over her face and for a moment just stood there as the warmth enveloped her face. She sighed with pleasure and then felt herself drifting on the thick, humid waves shifting over her ….

His hands were all over her body again—touching her in places she could not reach. Fingernails grazed down her spine, over her buttocks and down her thighs, tickled at the fragile skin behind her knees.

The washcloth magically left her hands to move down her throat, along her shoulders, sliding its sweet-smelling suds down her arms. One arm lifted and the cloth moved into her arm pit to stroke her before dragging down her side and then up and over her chest, circling each breast—sliding beneath first one heavy globe and then the other, streaking between them and onto her upper abdomen, across her belly—pausing for a moment to gently dip into her navel.

"So beautiful,"
he said to her on a breath of sound as the rag curved over her hips and slid between her legs to lave her thighs then her calves.

One foot came away from the bottom of the tub and seemed to rest on a thick, strong thigh as the washcloth trailed over the instep and around the ankle. That foot touched the broken wings of the butterfly tub decals again and the other foot was raised.

That done, the washcloth glided once more between her legs and she could feel firm fingers dragging its abrasiveness along her silken folds and over the sensitive pucker of her ass before moving on to the mounds of her ass.

The wet plop of the washcloth hitting the tub floor made her jump, but she didn't—couldn't open her eyes—and his hands were like satin clutching her hips, pushing her against the wall beneath the onslaught of the water.

He held her there for a moment then she was lifted so she straddled his strong thighs, his hands molded to her waist.

"Do you want me, Cathleen?"
he asked in her ear, his breath sending shivers through the canal.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Are you ready for me?"

"Oh, yes."

She felt her legs part and her thighs were draped around sturdy hips. She clung to him there in the steaming mist as his shaft drove unerringly through her sheath to claim her.

She rode him—her back sliding rhythmically up and down the shower wall with each of his long, deep strokes. When she came, she cried out, digging her nails into his sturdy back, raking her fingers down that glorious length.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing with the washcloth in her hand, the water streaming over her head, plastering her hair to her cheeks. Dazedly, she looked at her toothbrush, at the razor—neither of which had been touched.

"You're losing it, lady," she said to herself and squeezed out the washcloth then flung it over the shower curtain bar.