Collapse

The bra came roughly up over her breasts and immediately his hands were on her breasts, squeezing, kneading roughly. His thumbs and index fingers alternating between light caresses of her nipples and areolas and hard, pinching pulls of her nipples.

"You... Uh, you have smaller breasts than I imagined."

"It's the padded bra. I need all the help I can get. Disappointed?"

Right at that moment he thrust his hips up, driving a little deeper into her. She reacted with a little high-pitched squeal followed up with a sucking, wet kiss to his neck, right below the ear.

"Not at all... I, uh..." She rocked again. "Jesus! I, uh... I uh subscribe to the maxim that more than a mouthful is wasteful..."

"Then why don't you use your mouth too..."

He did, sucking a nipple in, flicking it with his tongue then gently scraping it with his teeth. All the while maintaining his hold on her other nipple.

She arched her back and then rocked again.

She was there.

He thrust upward, running his tongue from her nipple to the hollow of her collarbone and then biting and sucking.

She pulled him hard to herself.

Her voice was barely a whisper, the side of her face pressed hard against his. "Don't move...lover. Ohhhh. Yeah, don't move..."

She gently, almost imperceptibly, rocked once more.

The roughness against her thighs, his cock buried deep, the kinkiness of his sex hair tickling her swollen clit, the belt buckle pressing into her mound - even the texture of his shirt against her naked belly. It was wave of warm pleasure moving from her cunt up through her belly and breasts. She felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise and her scalp tingle.

She breathed out in a long, slow breath, feeling her orgasm in her entire body. He felt her cunt contract around him, strongly, in a slow rhythm.

She sought his mouth and they kissed. Long, slow, wet. She sucked his tongue. He ran his hands over the smooth; sweat slickened skin of her back, stopping to massage her shoulders.

"How do you want me?" she breathed in his ear?

"Ummmmm...surprise me."

"Be careful what you wish for," she paused, kissed him again, "I think I feel the spirit of Marilil..."

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later a fiber optic camera poked through a hole in the rubble that blocked the vault door. The rescuers saw the couple huddled on the floor, holding each other. They were asleep or unconscious but they were alive.

A cheer went up among the bystanders outside.

~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue

It took 12 hours of digging to get to the point the couple could be evacuated.

Both were taken to the hospital, dehydrated, hungry dirty, disoriented and slightly injured. A piece of the vault's false ceiling collapsed the second day putting a large gash in Doug's head and knocking him out for several hours. Out of the hospital inside of a week the reporter and her cameraman headed for the east coast: the morning news shows and Letterman and then out to L.A. and Leno.

Back at the station the news director was questioning the bruises around their necks and on their upper arms and chests that showed in photos and on TV as they were hauled from the rubble.

"Bats and damned leeches, Neil! We were in the sub- basement for Christ's sake! All kinds of vermin down there! Probably got some rat hickeys too!" was all Doug Stockton would say.

The young news director was *about* to believe it because of Doug's passionate indignation until Rene broke into hysterical laughter.

"Rat hickeys?" Rene asked and then laughed harder.

"Bats and damned leeches! Rat hickeys! I tell you! Really!"

Six months later, Rene Williams was named the principal anchor of the 6 and 10 o'clock newscasts.

~~~~~~~~~~

A Historical Note:

This story is most definitely a work of fiction.

However:

The Connor Hotel was built in 1908 at the corner of Third and Main in Joplin, Missouri. It closed in 1969. It collapsed in the fall of 1978 hours before scheduled demolition was to turn the Connor into a heap of rubble, trapping and killing at least three demolition crewmen.

I was 19 and allowed inside the police lines by virtue of my press pass identifying me as a reporter for a local radio station.

In the last 22 years of the 20th century, the collapse of the Connor was probably the biggest event Joplin experienced. I hope you will not feel that this piece of erotic fluff cheapens the event or the lives lost.

The collapse and the rescue effort had a profound effect on me. The entire four state area kept vigil hoping and praying for survivors. Being in the presence of so much hope and fear and desperation as the rescue crews worked and the families watched is an indelible experience.

Of course the collapse of the Connor has nothing on the loss of the Federal Building in Oklahoma City or the World Trade Center.

The Joplin Public Library today stands on the site of the Connor.

And while I was never inside the Connor before its demise there is another old, semi-abandoned building with a glorious past several blocks down from the Connor's site that I did share the pleasure of a woman in.

But that was a long time ago.

And, a long time ago Bonnie and Clyde did hang out in Joplin - and engaged in a gunfight with the local police - in April of 1933 escaping to Oklahoma through Seneca, Missouri.

Finally, Christine Craft, a female TV journalist at the ABC affiliate in Kansas City in the late 70's/early 80's, was demoted from co-anchor to reporter because marketing consultants told station management, based on focus group research, that she was "too old, too unattractive and wouldn't defer to men."

Craft sued for breach of contract in 1983. She won her first verdict in a Federal court in Kansas City with a $500,000 award. The judge threw out the verdict and the reward.

A second trial was held in the Federal Courthouse in Joplin, behind the Connor Hotel site. She won there too. The station appealed to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 8th Circuit in St. Louis and won.

Craft appealed to the Supreme Court and the court refused to hear the case, ending her litigation.

She wrote two books about her experience. The last I checked she was working in radio in Sacramento.

Rene Williams is NOT based on Ms. Craft; she's simply a composite figment of my imagination from the women I see on the evening news every day and the women I have had the pleasure to know in the news business.