The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter (Erotic Suspense) (11 page)

She lets this trail
and I fill in the blanks.

What world is
Don from, and why are they so like us . . . and unlike
us?

The photo of
deceased
John Simmons in that
dilapidated room is clearly imprinted in my mind.

11

At sundown (or
what I believe is the hour, since I have no window to go by), they
let
Don into my room. The
sight of him makes me weak in my knees. He seems a little worn,
with a slight puffiness around his eyes. The same Band-aid dressing
I saw earlier is still around his right forearm. But now there is
another one on his left bicep.

Still, he
looks like manna from
heaven
for my starving eyes. An angel whose wings have been clipped, but
an angel nonetheless.

What is he doing
here and why have they allowed him to see me?

I won’t
complain, but I will keep my suspicion quotient up.

As soon as his
minders lock the door,
I
collapse in his arms. He holds me as if he would never let me
go.

Imbibing the scent
of my freshly washed hair (well, there was nothing else for me to
do but worry and wash my hair every day), he murmurs, “What did
they tell you about me?”

“Everything.”

He’s silent
for a long while.

He sighs.
“They told me as much. Are you scared?”

“I’m still holding
you. That says everything, doesn’t it?”

For answer, he
bends down his head and kisses my mouth. It’s a long, lingering
kiss, tasting of sweetness and hunger and regret all rolled into
one. Heat begins to mount in my loins as his hands roam down my
back. I’m wearing an elongated T-shirt, and he seizes its hem and
lifts the thin cotton fabric over my belly and my arms.

“
I was worried
about you,” he says, kissing me again. He
unclasps my brassiere at the back.

“
And me
you. What did they do to
you?”

He’s wearing a white
hospital gown. I undo its spaghetti straps at the back which have
been tied up into butterfly wing knots. They come off easily.

“
Everything
they can think of. Scans, donut machines, probes, I don’t know what
else. Sometimes I’m sedated. Other times I’m not. They took tissue
samples off me.”

I clap my hand to my
mouth. “Oh my God.”

“
I
t’s just a flesh wound.”
He slips his gown off and shows me the Band-aids. He’s naked
underneath, and his cock springs up like a lever from his
balls.

Oh, that cock. That
wonderful, gorgeous cock.

“
They told you
that you’re from another world.”

“
I still don’t
remember.
But I reckon it has
a crimson lake and skies.” He smiles softly.

“Do you want to go
back to that world?”

“Yes.”

“More than
anything?” I am fearful of his answer.

“
Not more than
every
thing.” He kisses me
deeply. Hungrily.

“
Don.” The
possibility has been on the edge of my mind ever since our visit to
Neverlake. “What if . . . your world . . . is a world of the
dead?
Our
dead?”

He looks
troubled. “Maybe all worlds are aspects
of another one’s detritus. Maybe we are all
interconnected in ways we have never imagined.”

I never
thought of that.
It opens up
vistas to realms of possibilities that I have never dreamed of.
It’s simultaneously frightening, overwhelming and
exhilarating.

It’s not
something I’m comfortable to go into now, especially when we are
both getting naked, and so I say,
“Why did they allow you to come?”

He flashes me a wry
smile. “They say it’s for good behavior.”

His good
spirits recovering, he dives down and pulls my panties to my
ankles.

“
What
do
you
say?” I open my legs at his parting
of my thighs.

He kneels
before me and presses his mouth to my pussy. His lips suck
insistently at my clit. I can’t help but moan softly and grope at
his hair with my fingers.

He gives my
clit and pussy furrows a good tonguing before he replies, “I think
they just want to spy on us.”

This is a heady
possibility.

He returns to
his exquisite
licking and
kissing of my swollen genitals. My pussy creams start to trickle
out of my vagina, and he laps enthusiastically at the leakage as it
comes as if it is nectar from the gods themselves.

He stops to grin at
me. His lips and chin are smeared sexily with my juices.

“Do you care?”

“
No,” I gasp,
digging my fingers deeper into his hair. “Don’t
stop.
”

He doesn’t. He
uses his fingers to open the petals of my pussy, so that my red
throbbing clit is fully exposed. He applies his tongue onto the
sides of my clit, pushing the wet tip deep into my clefts so that I
am groaning and squealing with the sheer delight of it. He pushes
two fingers into my vulva as he does this, so that I almost come
with the agonizing bliss.

He stands up
to lead me to the table. “
I
think they want us to drop something we would only say to each
other.”

“If this room is
bugged, do you think it’s wise for us to talk about it?”

He pushes me
onto the table so that the upper half of my body is pressed flat
against the surface. My breasts and belly face downwards and my
haunches are in the air.

“Bugged?” he asks.
“What’s that?”

Oh yes, he’s from
another world where bugs probably only just mean insects.

“I think there are
listening devices in here. Maybe even hidden cameras.”

“
I told them
everything I know.
” He makes
sure my legs are widely parted. “I have nothing to hide. It’s easy.
I remember nothing.”

Again, he
shoves two fingers into my vagina and wipes my walls in a circular
motion. My pussy juices flow copiously.

“Do you think they
are watching us now?” I say, my breath coming out in short, sharp
pants.

“
Maybe. But I
don’t care. I need you so badly, Jean.” His penis head nestles
against my pussy hole, poised to enter.

“
Then
shove it into me.”

If
Pamela Sansky is watching us, then
let her eat her heart out. Oh, I have no doubt that she’s envious
of Don’s affection for me.

Me
,

Ms. Everywoman.

Nothing
special in Pamela Sansky’s own words.

The object of
my a
ffection thrusts himself
into me, cleaving my wet walls apart like a boat’s prow gliding
through waters. I let out a little cry. He starts to move his hips
against my buttocks while his hands milk my squashed breasts. I’m
so wet that I can hear the splish-splosh of his turgid flesh
grinding into me.

I moan, “Deeper,
please.”

He obliges. We
are both aware we are putting up a show for whoever is watching or
bugging us. But we are both too aroused to care. And besides, our
lives are over anyway. We may as well take whatever precious
moments the NPB will throw to us, like bones to a laboratory
dog.

“
Faster,” I
plead
.

His breathing
quickens to match his pace. His cock accelerates, and I derive a
certain sense of satisfaction that if Pamela Sansky were watching,
she would be astounded as to how rapidly Don can fuck. The friction
against my walls and G-spot climbs and climbs, until I’m clawing
and raking my fingernails against the cold metal table and wailing
from the sheer pleasure of it.

All my focus
zooms down to that one spot – my vaginal tunnel.
The air is rife with the aroma of our merging
juices. His marvelous tool stretches and rubs and strokes and
drives into me with the vigor of a fucking machine.

I don’t care
what world Don comes from.
I
love him and desire him and crave his body like a drug. What
matters is that he’s here with me now, and we are together for as
long as they will allow us.

“
Jean.” His
voice is ragged. “I think I’m in love with you.”

I’m too pinned
down to react, but m
y chest
blossoms with a cloud of happiness that seems almost unbearable. It
expands, filling my heart chambers with a tightness that travels
all the way down to my abdomen. I feel almost delirious with
joy.

My orgasm
explodes within me
before I
realize it. I scream – a high-pitched keen that no doubt carries
beyond the walls – because the door hisses open. Two agents run in,
cocking their guns and pointing their muzzles at us. I turn my head
to regard them out of my glazed vision. My sweat trickles onto the
table.

Don
doesn’
t heed them. He
continues to hammer his cock into me until he too ejaculates. His
warm semen jettisons into my vagina in a hot, seemingly endless
tide. There’s plenty of it – so much that it spills from my
crevices and drips down the undersides of my buttocks and my inner
thighs. He steadies himself against my hips, panting
hard.

The agents
wear expressions that are ill at ease. They lower their guns. I
know I should be mortifie
d
that they are seeing me naked and in this embarrassing condition to
boot – but I don’t care. My bones sing with elation. My blood is
high with an adrenaline rush that emboldens and liberates
me.

Don loves me
.

T
hat is all that matters
in the world.

My
world.

“Uh, sorry,” one
agent says as they back slowly out of the room.

“Close the door
behind you,” Don jibes as he pulls his well-used cock out of
me.

I half-lie
there on the table as Don
holds his spent cock up, its dripping head nudging my right
buttock. I’m still delirious.

“Did you mean what
you said?” I whisper, afraid of the answer. Perhaps that is
something men only say in the throes of orgasm.

“About closing the
door behind them?”

“You’re in a
humorous mood.”

He laughs
softly. “Yes, I am. And yes, I did.”

He gently
raises me up. My legs are weak
and I collapse into his arms. He scoops me up and carries me
to my bed, where he lays me flat on my back. He climbs in beside me
and stretches his body next to mine so that we are skin against
skin, warm flesh against warm flesh.

Our faces are
turned to each other’s. I can’t help but melt at how wondrous his
features are. How perfectly chiseled his
nose is, and how wide and deep ocean-like his eyes
are. His irises are flecked with a thousand colors – blue and green
and gold and brown and a rainbow of shades in between. I can look
into those eyes forever and feel comforted and safe.

“I love you,” I say,
abandoning caution to the wind.

“And I you.”

My heart soars to
hear him affirm it.

“So what do we
do?”

He smiles
and
places his lips against
mine. He murmurs in a very low voice against my mouth, “We find a
way out of here.”

12

Life is
strange like that. Providence strikes whe
n I least expect it to. And in a manner that neither
Don nor I expect.

It
ha
s been three days into our
captivity.

I am being led
to what I have been told is a
gynecological examination room. The door hisses open to the
agent’s fingerprint.

“Go on in,” he
motions to me.

I step inside.
A pelvic examination chair occupies the middle portion of the room
with its stirrups placed suggestively wide. The doctor I had seen
earlier with Don – the one with the short white beard – turns to me
as he straps on his latex gloves.

“Please, Ms.
Mansfield, have a seat.”

The door slides
noiselessly shut behind us.

“
Is there
anyone else in here?” I ask nervously.

“
I believe
Agent Sansky will be joining us.”

Okayyyyy.

“Why is she
coming?”

“She wants to see
how you are progressing.”

“Progressing in
what?”

“
Let’s wait
for her.” He readies his instruments on the silver tray. I shudder
as my eyes course over them. I’ve always hated gynecological
examinations. They are so invasive, clinical and cold.

“
Remarkable
specimen of a ma
n, your
friend,” the doctor remarks.

“Why do you say
so?”

“
We had him
perform a few physical tests. He clocked in the hundred meters in
less than three seconds.”

He lets this sink
in.

“
Twice as
faster than the world’s fastest man,” I say. But I already knew
that.

“Indeed.”

The
sound of a hissing door makes both of
us turn. Agent Sansky strides in, dressed in her usual immaculate
jacket and matching skirt.