Settling in Bradbury

The light filtering in through the open doors was getting rather dim, the storm blackening the afternoon sky to that of late evening. I decided to light the candles but paused when I realized I was without a lighter or matches.

Rummaging through my overnight bag, I knew I wouldn't find anything. "Great. I'm going to have to bathe in the dark…"

A large creak sounded in the dimly lit room and I jumped. In the corner there was a large linen cupboard. I hadn't noticed it there before but it was slightly cracked, the door swinging slightly loose on its hinges.

"Hello?" I stepped away from the cupboard and grabbed my leather jacket off the hook my the door, covering myself. "Is someone in there?"

It was quiet except for the shallow slap of little water droplet's falling from the tub faucet into the water. I took a tentative step toward the door.

"This isn't funny, you know. I can call the cops." I reached out slowly, carefully and caught the cabinet door and pulled it open.

It was empty except for a few moth-eaten towels on the shelves. I sighed heavily, feeling very stupid. I just about closed the closet door when I saw something clear at the back in the corner.

I reached in and pulled out the little book of matches.

Turning it over in my hands, I could see it was very old looking, with the strike strip across the front and very faded lettering. I tried to read it in the dark but I couldn't manage.

I walked over, grabbed one of the candles, and carried across the room and sat it up on the sink.

The match struck, I lit first the one on the sink and then I went back, and set the other candle down on the floor near the bathtub.

I turned the matchbook over. The print was faded but I was sure it looked like two big letters, done up in a grand design. "Initials maybe?"

With a shrug, I went and put the matches inside my jacket pocket, once again hanging it on the hook. The steam from the hot bath made the air heavy and humid, the bath beads added a faint scent of lavender.

As I slipped into the water, laying back to let my hair dip below the foamy surface, letting the water lap gently against me, I closed my eyes and began to ponder things.

"An hour ago," I thought, "I was technically homeless."

Now I lived in what was basically a mansion. It was old and run down, but there was something comforting about its size and apparent cleanliness.

Whomever Emma had hired to keep the place up, they did a good job.

I let the water drain out of the tub a little bit after a few minutes and added more from the hot spigot.

I rubbed the water over my neck and shoulders, letting it sooth the place where the seat-belt had dug into me for almost two whole days. Then I worked up lather with the bath beads and began to wash the skin over my breasts and stomach. The warm water felt really very good. In fact, it felt better than good. I suddenly found myself staring at the ceiling thinking of ways to help myself relax.

It wasn't long before my hands found there way down over my stomach. I ran the tips of my fingers over the little tuft of hair I kept demurely trimmed above my pubis. Along the sides of my outer labia I could feel the slight bumps of fresh stubble slowly growing. Had I a razor handy I would have taken care of them, but as I had none…

My fingers rubbed along the edges of my opening as I thought back to the biker who had nearly run me down in the street.

What was it about him?

I hadn't seen his face but for some reason he was burned in my brain. I closed my eyes and tried to replay the image of him in my head. His broad shoulders and obviously solid but slender torso under his worn leather jacket, his faded blue jeans, his brown leather boots with buckles…

"Climb on!"

I look into blue eyes under wild black hair.

Holding his leather clad arm out to me, as he straddles the shiny black mechanical monster between his strong thighs.

Our eyes lock for only an instant before my gaze falls away from him. I'm shaking my head to his invitation.

I feel his gloved hand grab my bare arm.

Looking down, I realize that I'm naked in the middle of the street. All the town looks upon the scene with mouths agape and breaths heavy.

The men are all erect at the site of my nakedness. The women, mothers, hiding their children's eyes as if they are appalled, but their attentions too are transfixed. They are watching the demon biker.

He pulls my naked body to his, I can feel the gentle sucking friction of the leather against my skin.

My chest is pressed to his. His hands are firm against my back. "Climb on," he says, quietly but with authority. "I won't tell you again!"

I felt the heat in my groin building as I kept my eyes closed and my hand moving over my outer lips, teasing myself.

Straddling the large motorcycle, with my hands around his middle and my breasts pressed tight against his back, I can feel the slightly raised lettering proclaiming him a "Hell's Angel."

With a flick of his wrist the bike's motor revs and I feel the guttural rumble all the way from the bottoms of my souls to the pit of my stomach. The vibrations pulse up from underneath me, my pussy leaks a small amount of its own juice out onto the leather cushion of the bitch seat.

With a roar of the motor he peals away from the curb, leaving the town's people in a cloud of road-grit, dirt, and exhaust.

Pressing my cheek to his back I inhale his smell, a combination of motor oil, sweat, and something else, sweet and heavy. A scent below the others, a secret scent of shaving soap, used to keep his face cleanly shaven and smooth to the touch of my fingers.

The countryside blurs by, the wind whips through our hair. I can feel the breeze over every inch of my body as we pass cars, semi-trucks, and a police cruiser.

The cop does not even attempt to give chase. He can't catch us.

Then the deceleration comes. We turn off into a thicket. He knocks the kick-stand into place and helps me off the bike.

My legs weak from the vibrations and burning warmth from the engine. In a flash he is on me, his gloved hands running down my back, pulling me to him.

Those eyes and that smile, so frightening.

I feel his gloved hand move down the slope of my backside and underneath.

I let my fingers slip inside me, imagining they were the biker's clad in dark leather gloves.

"You've been a rotten girl, Lillian," his voice is just as harsh and guttural as the motorcycle he rides and shocking in the silence of the thicket.

"I… I didn't mean to be… so… bad." My breathing erratic, I held on.

Focusing on my eyes, he quickens his pace with his hand. "Bend over the bike," he commands. "Now."

His hand moves away and he shoves me over to the motorcycle, its engine still alive with clicks and sputters. I bend, I know better than to disobey.

And then, a new sensation, not that of the rough leather, but softer, the feeling of his bare hands on my back. He is feeling me. Feeling the heat from my skin brush gently against his finger-tips. He withdraws his hand and soon the familiar warmth as he pushed into me.

The sloppy wets sounds, my panting turning into soft groaning, building into screams.

His hands clutching, groping, clawing at my exposed breasts. And then…

I rode it for ten seconds, my eyes closed and my breath short. I came hard against my own fingers, the images in my imagination flickering and then dying to black.

Opening my eyes I saw the tiles of the ceiling above me and felt the tepid water of the bathtub. I closed my eyes once more to try and picture the face again. Who's face had I put on the mystery-man's body?

I drifted for a moment back to some half-forgotten image. A boy perched on the edge of a small feather mattress, naked, eating cold Chinese food and smiling at me.

The connection was almost made in my mind when suddenly, I smelled something funny coming from the hall.

I sniffed and sat upright in the tub. It was heavy, sweet and musky.

Pipe tobacco?

I stood and walked over to my bag. From the bottom I pulled a towel and wrapped myself in it. I went out into the gallery and sniffed. "Is someone here?"

It was quiet.

I walked down toward the stairs but stopped when I saw that the second door was ajar. Was I going crazy? I thought I'd rushed out of the room and heard the door latch behind me. But here it was, ajar and unlocked.

I pushed it open and through the one window at the far end of the room I could see the last rays of the sun kiss the hilltops on the distant horizon. Though the room was empty the smell of smoke was dense.

I took a tentative step toward the door, working up the courage to go inside.

I looked about the room and then at the floor. I had dropped the ledger on the floor in my rush to get to the bathroom and shut off the water. I hadn't had time to pick it up. I looked at the spot were the ledger had lain and sucked in a breath.

It wasn't there. Instead it lay open on the desk. My arms went limp and my jaw slack. My foot was less than an inch from the threshold when I let out a small noise. In an instant the door swung violently shut right in my face with a loud bang.

I reeled back and suddenly felt cold all over my body.

I looked down and saw that I had lost my towel. I quickly bent to pick it up and I rushed back into the bathroom and locked the door from the inside. I sat watching the candles when suddenly there was a loud thump. I jumped and then sighed as the light over the sink flickered on.