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Erotic Adventures: 2. The Lost Weekend.

By johnksutherland All Rights Reserved ©

Erotica / Romance


Susan Braxton finds herself in an impossible situation. After discovering a naked man climbing into bed with her, she reacts as she ought. She resists and fights him in every way possible. Now she has another problem. She has knocked him out with a bottle of frozen water. She had hit him so hard with it she might even have killed him. Not only that, but she soon learns in a phone call from her mother, who assumes that she is still 500 miles away, that he had been a welcome guest in the empty house for that weekend while she had not been expected at all. At this moment, he is upstairs, unconscious, naked, and tied up like a chicken. If she had a shred of dry clothing to her name she would have dressed and gone, before he came to and discovered who she was, and what she had done to him. Moreover, this was the man—her mother had informed her in that call—that she had chosen for her daughter, as a future husband. As if all of that were not bad enough, the electricity was off, and the temperature was plummeting both inside and out. They might both freeze to death before morning. What was she to do?

The Adventure Continues. Second Variation.

William’s ride from the industrial complex had dropped him off at the guest-house of the Braxton estate. They promised to pick him up again on Monday, before they drove off to let him get settled in. He had been in meetings for three days, as they had learned what he had to teach them.

He had intended to fly out after the first evening, but they had needed him for longer. Then, there had been an airline strike that forced him to stay where he was. Fortunately, he had a change of underwear and socks, which he always carried with him when he went more than a hundred miles from home, but here he was, more than five hundred, and stuck out in the country.

His one day, had become three days of fourteen-hours each, as they had thrashed out what to do. He was dog-tired, and needed his sleep. So did his equally exhausted hostess, who had offered to put him up with her relatively grown family, having had him stay much longer than they had intended. He had politely thanked her for her offer, and explained that he needed quiet, and rest, as well as time to work on the plan they had settled upon.

She had sympathized with his need for peace and quiet, and had given him the guesthouse they owned by the shore, and some five miles away. Her house would be too noisy with teenagers in and out at all hours. He would be the only one, where he was, for the entire weekend. It had all the facilities he needed to look after himself, washer, dryer, and kitchen; well stocked, for those who intended to raid it to go sailing, or out in the powerboat. He could sleep as late as he liked, and spend the entire weekend recovering. He looked forward to some rest. They could meet again on Monday. He would have two complete days to himself, and intended to get a lot done.

When he was dropped off, it was after nine in the evening, and still just light enough to see things with the help of a moon, which might not be there for much longer from what he could see of the gathering clouds moving in, but at least it was warm.

The local scenery was of a gently sloping meadow, leading from the house down to the sea, a hundred yards away. The open grassy slope was dotted with scattered clumps of trees, growing in small rock pile accumulations cleared from the open area.

He let himself in with the key, and replaced it outside under the plant pot before he closed the door behind himself, put all of the lights on and explored.

The lower half of the house was mostly a stable; empty of horses or cattle, and closed off from the rest of the house, but the upper floor was set up for at least one guest. There was a large and modern open bedroom whose windows over-looked the sea, and with an adjoining bathroom, also large, and shower. Next to the stable downstairs, was the kitchen of the house, and a large living room with fireplace, another smaller bathroom, and an adjacent garage, also empty.

He made himself a snack from the store of canned and dried food. He would explore the freezer in the garage later, to plan a more ambitious meal. He settled in, deciding that he would have an early night. He could not find the bedding that he had been told about. That, must be in the boathouse down on the shore, as he had been warned might be the case. He would get it later. The family had planned a boating trip that weekend, but it had been cancelled with that storm, so he could recover what he needed from the boat if he needed it.

He decided to go for a walk around the point before retiring, even though the wind was blustery, and the waves were beginning to pick up in height and intensity. He could even feel the damp spray driven at him from the whitecaps. He could see well enough, and the path was well-marked with white cobbles at the edges, and chips of white quartzite for the surface. A storm was coming. He had heard something of it during breaks in their discussions but they had been too busy with everything else to worry about that. He would risk it. He did not bother locking the house up.

His walk was much longer than he expected with his mind going over many things. He had needed the exercise, and to clear his head. If he had brought his running clothes, he would have been out doing that instead. When he got to the furthest point, and it began to become too dark for comfort, though his eyes had grown used to the dark, he turned back. It had gone much colder in the short time he had been out; the wind had strengthened too, and he could hear the waves smashing into the pebble beach somewhere below him, and grinding the edges off, to make those rounded cobbles and pebbles that children of any age from six to sixty, loved to collect. He could hear the undertow sucking some of those rocks out into deeper water before throwing them back at the shore, as though the gods were playing ninepins.

He was surprised how far he had walked, with his mind going over so many other things, and he was caught in a downpour the like of which he had never seen before. There had been something like two inches of rain, fall in less than fifteen minutes, and then steady, heavy rain after that, driven in off the sea by a strengthening wind. He wished he had paid more attention to the weather forecast. The lights from the house guided him back. He was soaked through to the skin and weighed twenty pounds heavier. He was cold, too, but that was because he was wet. He could soon solve that.

He walked through to the garage, squelching with every step, stripped off, and squeezed the excess water from his jacket and trousers into the sink, putting his outer clothing in the dryer there, and got it started. There was nothing that was likely to shrink. He had better wash all of his other things too.

After he had dried himself off, he retrieved his socks and underwear from his overnight case, threw those into the washer, along with the rest of his clothes as he stepped out of them, and got it started too. He knew he was the only one who would be there for the weekend, and no one else would come by, with the weather turning as it had. He walked off to the living room, thinking that he might review some of his notes. It was fortunate that no one else would see him wandering the house, as naked as he was.

That, was when the lights went out. He had planned on drying out his wet clothing, and at least donning his underwear, which would dry first, and sleeping in those, but now he could not. Everything was still wet and the power was off.

It did not matter. There was only him there, so no one else would be shocked at his lack of clothing. He would retire, rather than light a fire in the grate. It was late, and he needed his sleep. Tomorrow would bring its own problems, though the storm should have moved through by then.

He made his way through the dark house to the kitchen, and found the milk in the fridge. It would do, tonight, and he still was not hungry. He had been snacking all day. He drank some of the milk, direct from the small carton, and then replaced it. He did everything by touch and, fortunately, he had seen the layout of the house earlier. He was shocked where the time had gone. Just before the power had gone out, he noticed that it was midnight.

There was nothing else to do but turn in. He could not go looking for blankets now, not in that downpour, but he had seen that the bed had a sheet and pillows, and that would do. It would be warm enough even though there would be no heat. It would have to be. He could double the sheet if it became too cold. He had slept in worse conditions, and at least he was protected from the rain and wind, which he could hear around the house, beating at the windows and rattling everything that might move.

He was not sure what woke him up at first, except there was a sudden movement in the bed beside him, pulling the sheet off him, and a raised voice; a female voice. It was raised in complaint, perhaps even in a scream, in the darkness. He was amazed how loud it sounded in his ears in that confined space, jolting him into sudden consciousness. There was a lot of violent threshing about, with arms and legs flying everywhere, and mostly aimed at him. Her blows rained upon his head and body before he could shield himself with his arms. There seemed to be two assailants, but what seemed even stranger, was that both were women. Both could also be completely naked from what he could vaguely see and feel of them in the relative dark. He caught brief, intriguing glimpses of the naked female body fighting at him. Everything was happening so quickly.

He seemed to be the target of it all from what he could see, in what seemed to be the first glimmers of early morning. It was an unexpected wake-up call. He soon discovered that there was only the one woman fighting him. He reached out, grabbed an arm close to him as he moved across her, and then another arm. He encountered bare skin, a small patch of hair (not upon her head) and then a substantial breast, but the legs still kicked at him, bruising his side, until he laid across her body. There would be no reasoning with whoever was doing this to him until she had stopped screaming, trying to injure him, and before she might be able to listen to what he would have to say.

He moved more along her to hold her legs down, before he thought to sit up over her, while holding this fighting banshee still, and stopping her from doing any more damage to him. Having to do all of that, meant that he could not be careful where, or how he touched her as he tried to control what was happening, and to get the upper hand. She would fear the worst, but he couldn't help that. He had not expected to be woken up with such violence. He was hurting in a few places where she had managed to land a few hard kicks from her feet and knees, with others from her elbows and arms, before he had stopped her. He could taste blood where she had hit him in the mouth with her knee or an elbow.

The screaming stopped in the heat of the struggle, though she was breathing hard, her breasts heaving, as she struggled beneath him. He was sitting upon her and holding her down with his weight. He could feel her knees hitting his back. Her loud screams did nothing, other than annoy him, but fortunately, she stopped, and began to loudly object, and even to swear at him, as she continued to struggle, but with failing strength.

She still tried to throw him off her, and to fight him. He did not know why it was happening to him, or how it could be happening. He was supposed to be the only one in the house at that hour, even for a few days, from what he had been told. The only way he could stop what was happening, was to move above his attacker, as he had, and deaden her ability to hurt him by using his own weight on her as he laid across her, which he was doing. He changed his grip upon her arms, moving his hold to her wrists, as he pushed her hands to beside her head, so that he could lean over her, and moved his weight further down on her to hold her threshing legs, still. She could no longer kick him. He watched for her head, elevated on the pillow, ready for it to smash into his face if he became careless, and got too close to her. She was a fighter.

He put more weight onto her wrists to hold her, and to stop her knocking his teeth out, or giving him a black eye, and pinned her arms even better. He was able to relax upon her then, and let her struggle, which she had not let up from doing. As he recovered his wits, he became aware of a soft, warm, and yielding body beneath him. It was a beautiful body, with entrancing, well-shaped, and substantial breasts, symmetrical in every way, as though turned on a lathe. They were hypnotizing. There was a pronounced areola and obvious proud nipples. It might be relatively dark, both inside and outside, but there was enough light to see all of that. The body was one thing. The woman it belonged to, was another; a devil, and she was fighting him in desperation.

She was a mature woman, and physically attractive, but what was she doing here? And why was she attacking him as she was?

What he could see of her, which was everything important, did not help his condition. He was lying almost full upon her, and striving to keep his head out of the way of hers. The sheet was long gone from the bed, torn away by her feet.

They were both as naked as the day they had been born, and he was lying upon her in a way that would cause any woman, with an unknown man on top of her at that time of night (or even day), to fear for her safety, even had he been dressed. However, he was not dressed. Nor was she, and she was not about to cooperate in anything, considering the extreme concern she was demonstrating over him being where he was.

The more obvious reason for her protest, might be that he was also aroused, having just woken from a peaceful rest, and with his mind contemplating almost what was happening to him even now, but with a more compliant and submissive woman beneath him. That dreamy moment, with a less substantial, but no less desirable woman who, in his dream at least, had been as interested in the outcome as he was, had just gone. They had both of them been working eagerly toward it even then, with her inviting him to know much more of her. He had already got a good start on that, hence his present condition. Then, the moment had evaporated, and it had all turned violent. The voluptuous and accommodating siren in his dream, had been replaced by a snarling tigress ready to tear his heart out. Apart from those changes, this one might have been part of that dream, that he was still reluctant to leave, except she was not cooperating as the other had been, but was fighting mad.

She could also feel, and even see, in the dim light, that he was as naked as she herself was. That, with his aroused state, did not help her calm down in any way. How could it? It seemed to make her more desperate. He could not help noticing that the same was true of her, with her heaving breasts visible to him as he sat up from her. She had breasts that took his breath away, and left his mouth dry, and his head pounding. When he managed to look away from them and to her face, he could see that she had a look of fear, and determination in her eyes.

He held her still, until she might grow tired, or stop her struggling for other reasons. His legs, and his weight on her, were stopping her from kicking at him now. He was at first kneeling outside of her legs to stop her rolling him off her, as she threw herself around. She was too light to move him easily, so he evaded her legs, beating into his back, and held her down more surely, by moving himself to lie full upon her between her legs, putting more of his weight on her to hold her still. By doing that, he became aware that she was afraid that he had other intentions upon her with that aroused part of his touching at her between her thighs, which was the main reason why she was fighting him so desperately. His change of position had made her even more afraid of his intentions. Serve her right if she engineered her own difficulties, the way she was threshing about, and opened herself up to being invaded. If it happened, it happened, and serve her right. If she had any sense, she would lie still. He could taste blood in his mouth.

He did not understand how she could be here, or why, or what had caused her to attack him as she had, but he understood her fear at this moment. With the tables turned, any woman would be concerned. She would be able feel him lower down on her, pushing at her there as she struggled, and must fear what he might be intending. He dare not let her go, however, with her intent still being to injure him. She was helpless now, and it served her right for being so damned loud and violent, and waking him up from what had been a pleasant dream involving another young woman; one of many who populated his dreams when he was able to relax. After those, he always woke up with an erection. She could see and feel that for herself, and that must be what concerned her, considering where he was now located, but he did not care about that. She would be tensed up so tightly, that nothing could get in there, even had that been his intent, which it was not. He was also more than able to hold her helpless beneath him, as he did whatever he might intend to do with her. She was assuming the worst with them both naked, and him holding her down, and with his erection nudging at her in a crucial place as she struggled.

He sat up from her as she lost her strength from fighting him, but he still held her wrists, and held her immobile. She had begun to realize that fighting him, and moving her legs around as she had been, opened her up, and made her far too vulnerable, and might be exciting him even more.

He was taken aback, as well as bemused to see as much of her as he did (and he could see everything he might ever have wanted to see), but he could do nothing about it.

As he lay on her, he had ample confirmation of his first impression. She was well built, and but for the look of fear on her face, and some of the impolite and un-lady-like words she was using on him, in her frustration at being held immobile, she would have been beautiful. She was far too slight to think of being able to fight him off. Lucky for her, he was not the kind of person she seemed to think he was, but she did not know that.

Where had she come from? What was she doing attacking him in his bed, and why was she just as naked as he was? He had no choice about his absence of clothing, but why was she naked, and where had she come from? He was not about to let her go, and encounter her fist, or have his eyes scratched out. He would try to calm her down, once she stopped struggling and arguing, but it would not be easy to do with them both in the intimate and threatening predicament—for her—that they were both in, and that she was causing. He continued to hold her, as exhaustion soon overcame her.

He decided that, as she had at least stopped throwing herself around, now might be a good time to ask questions, and to find out what she was doing here, and why was she picking on him. He let go of one of her wrists for a second to check his cheek and forehead where she had hit him. It felt as though she had opened it up, somehow, and it was bleeding. He opened his mouth to speak….

That was the last thing he remembered.

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