Snowbound

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Like bits of shredded paper struck to wet glass, the heavy snow continued to clog the wiper blades slowing the tiny electric motor to an unhealthy groan. The streaked windshield became impossible to see oncoming traffic, and both side-mirrors of the school bus were so caked, Jeff Morrison had to open the driver’s side window every couple of minutes just to brush that side clear.

The weather was beginning to worry him. He glanced at his watch. They’d not met anyone coming or going in thirty minutes of crawling up the mountain. Thank heaven the highschool teenagers had been delivered to their parents, all except one. The senior’s car waited at the bus terminal and he wondered if she’d be able to drive out of there. Would be good to have this trip over and the bus back in the barn. He reminded himself of the warmth of the terminal, had just turned off the AM radio, which was all about the freak storm they traveled through, and he was more than enough aware of that.

“What the fuck.”

A thick crunch, and the tearing of metal, the buses’ objection from running off pavement to rugged stone and gravel, ground through the interior of the bus. The passenger added a high-pitched screech to Jeff’s already over-stimulated eardrums. The speedometer bounced into his sight showing thirty-five miles-per-hour, the nose of the bus suddenly jerked down, all in less than a second, and he hung weightless.

“Hang on,” he yelled.

The wheel spun from his hands, both hands flew, at the same time he attempted a downshift, and instantly couldn’t think of why he’d do such a thing. Jeff’s foot slammed down the brakes. The tires bounced and slid. The bull of a steering wheel whipped left and right, as if it wanted to rid itself of driver and passenger. They were going to die.

* * *

He awoke to black so dark a cave met his eyes, only colder. At first, he couldn’t remember where he was, then the fire alarm of reality met him head on. He was blind.

“Carla?” The sound was that of a frog, he wet his lips, tried again, “Carla Phelps, you alright?” This time he recognized his voice, and a picture of the emergency flashlight popped to mind. If he couldn’t see, at least the girl would have light. Jeff’s hands searched under the dash.

“Shit, that hurt.”

The sting in his knuckles subsided as he worked the fingers. Pain is unsympathetic, but did increase his thoughts of their plight. With more diligence than he felt, his searching fingers found the kit all school buses by law were required to carry. The cold metal of the electric lamp was encouraging. A strong beam filled the inside of the bus. That would teach him for being so pessimistic, not blind after all. Jeff played the light around searching for his passenger, noting quickly that the bus had flipped, lay upside down at a crazy angle. Swift barb’s of memory jabbed his foggy brain, and he shivered at the replay of the drive off the cliff. A movement of air chilled his neck, but the windows that he could see remained intact, which was good, but the whiteness that registered beyond the safety glass showed they must be under snow.

“Mr. Morrison, is that you?”

The light spun toward the voice as if it had a mind. The blonde figure in the beam hunched sideways, winter legs drawn up. A thin, brown jacket gapped open, ripped by something, dangled in tatters off one shoulder. The sleeve still clung to the wrist, held by a single, large, pearl like button. Before he jerked the light away, one full, naked breast jutted dangerously from a pink, torn blouse. The girl seemed unaware of her condition. Dazed, he figured, and that single defining moment would be the one picture to keep alive the impact of the accident, and the danger they faced.

“It’s me,” he said. “You alright?”

“Seem to be banged up, but yeah . . . what happened?”

“Off the road . . . remember hitting something. The storm. . . Do you have a cell?”

“Got smashed.”

He chuckled to himself by almost correcting the girl’s faulty grammar. ‘It was smashed,’ instead he said, “Okay then, we’ll be alright,” then quickly added, “They’ll send someone out, when we don’t arrive.” At least that’s what he hoped would take place. No sense making the girl worry any more than necessary.

“When will that be?”

“Soon,” he said. “We’re only six or seven miles out.”

He looked in the emergency kit, drew out a couple space-age foil blanket packs, tossed one in her direction. “Wrap yourself up, keep warm.” He heard the stripping of foil as she tore into it, and he opened one for himself. This way, he wouldn’t have to draw attention to her nakedness by asking her to cover up.

“There’s plenty of water,” he said, remembering the plastic bottles in back, “and we can melt snow if we need. The biggest thing is to keep warm until we’re rescued.”

“I heard the radio,” she said, her tone admonishing.”Said the storm would last days.” Carla was quiet then, seemed to be thinking, made up her mind and added in a calm voice, “Dad made sure we all had survival training, so I’m not particularly worried. bahis firmaları As good a time as any to test it. Luckily neither of us is hurt. That could have complicated things.”

“Indeed.”

In a few hours even the foil blanket he’d wrapped tight around himself didn’t keep out the cold. The windows were filling with Jack Frost scribbling. Moisture from breathing became invisible crayons, painting the windows with feather ice. Jeff wondered if they were going to have to open a window for air. He shined the light in Carla’s direction to reveal that the cold had already overreached the limits of her body to provide heat. Her teeth chattered across the short distance.

“You that cold?”

“Mm-m-more,” she said. “I learned that we will survive better if we share body heat . . . that is if you don’t mind.” Without waiting for an answer she scooted right up to him, pulled her blanket over both of them.

“Wait, my blanket can help.”

After that, he began to warm. Her shivering hadn’t lessened, and adding that her little body snuggled so tight to him, the mental picture of her full breasts pressed to his chest was a permanent tattoo. His mind ran in all directions . . . the girl is only eighteen, for shit sake.

“Is there needle and thread in the survival kit?” Carla asked, her voice soft and quivering.

“I believe so.”

“I can sew together two of these blankets, make a tent to cover us.”

He thought for a moment. “I might be able to get a couple of these seat backs off. Make it easier to sit, instead of this hard roof. Warmer on our butts too.”

“Metal’s hard.”

He was thinking about being human and something else becoming stiff with her clinging to him, and that didn’t make him happy. Embarrassing himself was not something he did regularly. In an hour by his watch, he had several seat backs off, lining them up. It was then he noticed several of the windows were cracked and one was completely broken. The packed snow didn’t allow wind to enter, but convection cold seeped into the bus like a frost bitten worm.

“Here we go,” Carla said. “Help me ti-ti-tie this to the seats.” It was large enough to cover about six foot, and drape down to stop any errand cold from the sides. They’d still need their blankets, but it would help.

He lay his head on a seat back, stretched out full length and pulled the extra blankets over them. He switched off the light to save the batteries. Darkness swept over them like a cloud filled night without city lights to reflect upon them.

“The lights right here, if you need it,” he said.

“Need heat more than light,” she said, “and we’ll have more if we take off our clothes.” She said it so matter-of-fact that it startled him. Heat rushed to his face. He felt her moving, knew she was removing her pants. Before he could say anything, he heard fabric rustle. Envisioned every move as the ripped jacket came off, top over her head. “Come on, hurry it up,”she said, “it’s cold out here.”

She was again snuggled to him, her head on his chest, legs covering his.

“Ah, warmth,” she whispered, her body nestling in with his.

He didn’t know if true or not, but in his mind he felt the hair covering the ‘vee’ between her legs tickle his skin. He thought her a little damp when she threw a leg over his stomach, but that was probably his imagination.

“I’ve never been this close to a naked man.” She giggled with teenage nervousness.

Great, I’m physically tangled with an impressive virgin who isn’t my wife, or even a fiancee . . . he willed his appendage to shrivel, but thoughts of what she could be doing only made it worse.

“Ohhh,” she whispered, “you’re . . . “

The sound of her voice, he thought, was more knowing than surprise.

“We’re both naked, and I am human.”

“I know about a penis,” she said. “I’ve had sex education.”

“Then you know how difficult this is.”

“We didn’t go into the physiological aspects of male sex.”

“Beautiful.”

“I do know about babies, and other things.” She faltered, then it all came out in a rush.”Girls talk, you know. We’re not that much different from boys.”

Oh, yes, you are . . . Jeff envisioned her young, taunt body draped over his. Her hot breath did knowing things to him inside. Where were girls like you when I went to high school?

“Do you know anal?”she said.

“What?”

“Have you had anal sex?”

“I heard what you said, and that’s none of your business. I don’t talk about what I have or have not done in private.” He’d only read magazine articles on the subject, but wasn’t about to explain that.

“So, you don’t screw and tell. But, I’ve never done anything sexual, unless you call kissing, and masturbation, sex.”

“Good for you, saving yourself.”

“I’m not saving anything. Just saying, I’m not about to get pregnant.”

So, you’ve . .?”

“Screw you . . . I’ve never been promiscuous.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I just never found it easy to talk about . . .”

“Sex?” she said. “Good to know.”

“Girl, kaçak iddaa I’m six or seven years older, and you’re not my type.”

“You don’t know my type, and I’m a woman, not a girl. I can make you cum just as well as someone your age.”

He remained silent, wondering, who is this girl?

“You don’t believe me?” she said, and grabbed him.

“Heyyy . . .”

The touch, a shout of her exasperation and need, rammed over him like a pot of molten metal. Her fingers working him like she’d milk a cow.

“Don’t.” he said, finally catching his breath. “That’s not appropriate.”

“You like being touched,” she said, “I can tell, and you don’t care which woman does it.”

Her closeness made him weak. A shutter ran through at her touch, and a woman’s throaty laugh came from under the dark, foil covers.

“See? Your body betrays you, and I like what I’m doing. Remember, I heard that radio too, and if I’m going to die, I’m not going without trying everything mother said was morally disgusting.”

“We’re not . . . going to die.”

“So, you say . . . Tell me what you like a woman to do,” she said, ignoring his denial of their future. “I know one thing, I’ll bet.”

With that, her lips squashed against his chest. “I love my nipples played with, do you?” she whispered, her voice husky with desire. Took a few seconds to find one in the dark, her hot breath stimulating the hair on his chest to a tornado of action.

Suddenly her lips found him, and quick heat flashed through his system.

“You shouldn’t . . . be doing that,” he said. A ragged deep breath entered the bus, and he prayed she wouldn’t stop.

“Even if it’s this enjoyable?”

“Just don’t start anything you can’t finish.”

“I finish everything.”

Her lips gathered in the nipple, sucked on it, played with it. Carla’s tongue swept around the now hardening little tower. Tweaked the other with her fingers. “I do this to myself sometimes.”

Jeff’s groan was not all involuntary, his fingers were counting ribs, found the tip of one breast squashed against his chest. Something he didn’t recognized filtered from her lips, an animal sound. Little vibrations that hung in his mind long after she’d made it.

He felt her push up, balancing on her arms, giving complete access. He hefted the breast as if he were a scale, and she a delicacy he was about to ravish. Heavy, round, better than a handful. She shivered, then attacked his other nipple, as if his ministrations had driven her to do it, turning his desire up like a dial on an electric stove.

“I’m all quivery inside,” she said, her voice low and gravelly, “with the thought of what comes next. My friends disagree . . . some don’t like it, others say it’s a wonderful experience, can’t get enough. Believe I’ll be one of the latter . . . guide me, I must know the taste of a man before I die.”

She moved down, kissing the flats of his stomach. On the way, her hair dragged over his skin in a torturing misfit of emotions. Anticipation, that warrior of desire beat inside his frenzied brain. Every muscle in his body demanded the torment, coaxed the end, and yet . . . Something soft and warm ran the full length, using him like an ear of corn. Jeff trembled under the touch, wished he could see what was happening, but the light would destroy the mood. She cradled him between those spellbinding, warm globes. Felt them slipping around him agonizingly slow. The sudden urge to burst flew across his libido like a feather dipped in hot grease. She caressed the head of him like a favorite ice cream bar or a piece of candy.

Her cheeks and tongue did their magic. On and off like someone rapidly flicking a light switch, jeff neared the explosion point.

“Should call this a suck job,” she said, breaking the spell, “there is no blowing.” She giggled around him. “How’m I doing?”

He almost blasted himself into her right then, but with a steel will brought himself back from eruption. She moved on, taking her time, humming ‘She’ll be coming round the Mountain.’ It was meant to be funny, he knew, but the vibrations sent him to the edge. His hips spasmed by themselves.

Startled by the quick upward force, Carla pulled back, and in one quick downward jab of her head took him to the root of his existence.

If this was illegal in some states, politicians obviously had never tried it.

Carla’s breath came in jagged gasps. “Didn’t know I’d like it this much,” she said, coming up for air. “My heart is racing.”

“You’ll like what I do for you much better.”

“I don’t know, this is pretty fantastic.” Her tongue swept over him lovingly, kissing the tip. She let out an exaggerated smacking of lips. He could almost see her tongue sneak out, licking her lips. “I want more,” she said and he hit the back of her throat as she attempted to take all of him again.

Her body convulsed, she was going to retch. Her pharynx opened in preparation, and Jeff slipped easily down Carla’s throat. The muscles tightened around him and he realized she’d just tried to swallow. kaçak bahis He was there in that instant. Clamping down on his sphincter muscles, Jeff held it for a long count, the pleasure built in those few seconds until he could hold back no longer and spit a stream of pent up joy.

Everything halted, as if his cum startled her into complete submission. When the second discharge exploded down her throat, she resumed a slow tender action, worked over him until she had only the tip between her lips. He wondered if by chance she kept some of his discharge on her tongue just as another spasm grabbed him.

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Forceful.” She laughed now, full and throaty, a woman sound. “Like sequential explosions, boom, boom, boom,” she said. “I’m in awe.”

A tiny smacking of lips came to him, this time without any sign of prevarication. “I actually like the taste. Do all men taste this good?”

“You should ask your girlfriends.”

“Think I will. At least I have something to compare and share. I’m going to try that again.”

“You’ll have to wait a few minutes.”

“Why?”

“I need to reload.”

“Ohhh.” That giggle again. She had transformed to teenager.

“It’s your turn,” he said. “Take my place down here.”

In a few seconds, she was under him. His hands caressed her face, a finger ran over the puffy lips, and he wondered if he’d bruised them in his excitement. The sides of her neck were extremely sensitive, under the ears and the small concave spots near the clavicle. His tongue flicked about her ears. He drew in an ear lobe, sucked it as she had him, and biting the neck with his lips produced an almost growl. Her head twisted into him. Jeff tasted her lips, hard and demanding.

“Did I tell you, I can touch my nose with the tip of my tongue?” she said.

He made love to her tongue to see. Right then he wanted to dive into her, smell the freshness of her, take her quick, satisfy his desire, but held himself in check. Finally reaching her breasts, he kissed the tops with windshield wiper like kisses, dipped between them, lingered over the breastbone, explored the mass of them, searched out each nipple, flicking them with the point of his tongue. Finally, taking one at a time between his lips, he sucked hard and soft, tit-for-tat, pulling each one until it nearly slipped from his lips, rolling the stretched flesh until she groaned. In one swift motion he was between her legs, found them to be longer than he thought. He loved long legs. Slipping his fingers under both sides of her tiny butt he balanced her on his hands, drew her into him.

At the contact Carla yelled. “Fuckin’ bitch,” The first orgasm hit hard. Her legs stiffened as she pushed to meet his thrusting. That growl again. “Ohh, fucck.”

He brought her to the finale.

Sweat covered, they lay side-by-side in each others arms, their breaths hot and heavy, hearts yammering.

“Now, that’s an orgasm,” she whispered, “Better than I get by hand.” She played with the hair on his chest.

“Told you so, want to go again?” he asked.

“Can you?”

“I have a mouth,” he said and laughed.

“Well, I could,” she said, “but you have to refill. That’s such a downer.”

“It’ll be up soon enough.”

“If not, I may have to give it resuscitation.”

“Hummmm.” His eyes rolled, but she couldn’t see that, or hear him wondering what came next in her mother’s abhorrent fantasies of what was morally disgusting.

* * *

The unapproachable, Mr. Jeff Morrison, how that has changed in such a few minutes. His breathing slow and strong under her ear, made him seem so close . . . if it weren’t for the mess they were in. If they were rescued, everything would reverse, except; something very important had just taken place. She had given for the first time, the most personal of all acts to a man she didn’t know. A tiny thrill flashed through her at the thought. The power she had over him in those few seconds, beyond belief. The Gemini twins mirrored how she felt, connected body and soul, and now her other half lay drained, slowed under the auspicious of sexual satisfaction.

Into her mind flashed a picture of just how wrong Misty had been. She knew now that her friend didn’t always know or tell the truth, doubted that Misty had even been close to her boyfriend’s prick. Poor Floyd. Come to think of it, poor me, because I believed. Misty’s words rang clear in her brain.

“All women do it,” Carla’s friend said, “including our respective mothers, they just don’t mention that in their little sex talks.” Then came the explanation of the very first time Misty went down on her boyfriend. “He got so worked up, grabbed my hair . . . that thing of his cut off my air, I gagged and threw up all over him. Served him right.”

This hadn’t actually been an endorsement, and Misty had said it tasted like poor man’s Okra, thick and slippery.

I hate Okra, nearly puke at the smell. If that’s what boys expect, piss on them. In the months since Misty’s little declaration, Carla had found one of her brother’s adult magazines,’The Joys of Oral Sex, and Other Interesting Pleasures.’ Coming downstairs to help for dinner that late afternoon, she found her mother already in the kitchen.

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