Hypothermia

I had an argument with my step-father. It started with the way he treated my mother and then spilled over to a lot of other things. He was a despicable pig of a man and I totally failed to see what my mother saw in him. Still, she seemed happy enough, not that that gave him the right to be so obnoxious.

The argument finished when he pointed out that it was his house, which it was, and if I wasn't willing to live by his rules, which I wasn't, I was free to leave. I just turned around and walked out. I was eighteen, had a job, and quite capable of finding my own accommodation. There was no way that I'd live under the thumb of a domestic dictator. He'd be off to work tomorrow and I'd drop by and grab my things just as soon as I lined up a place to live.

I was heading towards a friend's place, meaning to bunk there for the night. It was quite a walk and I wasn't even halfway there when the rain started. A little rain I could put up with, even if it was cold.

A few moments later there was this brilliant flash, an appalling clap of thunder, and someone let Niagara Falls loose. In about two seconds flat I was soaked to the skin and in danger of both drowning and freezing.

Fortunately I knew exactly where I was. The big old house across the road from me, the one standing in total darkness and looking like a traditional haunted house, was the old McKoskey place. Old McKoskey had died about six months ago and the place had been standing ever since. The executors of the estate were too lazy or too tight to attend to the gardens and the place was a veritable jungle.

What else it was was empty, with a broken window at the front, courtesy of a small fiend with a stone. The executors hadn't got around to fixing that window either. Fortunately, the prevailing winds came from behind the house, otherwise the current storm would have wreaked some nasty damage via that window.

I ran (swam?) over to the house and edged along between the house and the supposed garden until I reached the broken window. From there it was easy to reach inside, unlatch the window, slide it up, and slide over the sill and in out of the rain.

I was totally soaked and shivering. I groped my way over to the door and out into the hall. Now all I had to do was figure out which room was the bathroom (hopefully containing towels), get dried, and then find a room with a bed so I could catch some sleep. Hopefully the bed would include covers, as I was freezing.

There was another bright flash, which I immediately attributed to lightning. It took me a few moments to notice that the bright light was still on. Startled I looked around and noticed that the lights in the hall were on. I hadn't even realised that the power was still on.

I blame being wet and cold for not thinking about how the lights came on. I just head on down the hall, checking each door to see if it was a bathroom. That was until I came across a doorway with no door. Instead of a door I was looking at a very large man who might as well have been a door, he was so large.

"You seem to be looking for something," he said.

"A bathroom," I said, nodding. "I want to dry off a bit."

"You do seem a bit wet," he agreed. "From the blue tinge to your lips I'd say you were a bit cold as well."

"Well you're not wrong there," I admitted, "but my chances of finding hot water in the bathroom are pretty slim. Or any water for that matter. I think the executors turned off all the utilities. Except, apparently, for the electricity."

"Oh, you noticed that the power was on?"

I nodded. "Um, the bathroom?"

"Follow me," he said, leading me up some stairs.

At the top of the stairs he pointed to two doors.

"Linen cupboard," he said of the first door. "Bathroom." That was the second. "As soon as you're in there strip off and stand under the hottest shower that you can manage for as long as you can. I suspect you're suffering from a touch of hypothermia and you need to get your core temperature up a bit. I'm sorry to have to say that it'll probably hurt a bit but it is necessary."

I simply nodded and went into the bathroom, stripping off and getting under the shower. I'd worry about the towels after I warmed up. The shower was way too hot so I turned it down, making it a lot cooler. I was quite irritated when the man reached past me and turned the heat up again.

"Now stay there like that until I say you can get out," he told me firmly.

"You're dreadfully bossy," I grumbled but stayed where I was, feeling the heat seeping into me.

I learned later that some of the symptoms of hypothermia include feeling dazed, disoriented and confused. I blame that on my not even wondering who the man was and why the utilities seemed to be on. I hadn't even blinked when he adjusted the shower, even though I was standing naked under it.

As I warmed up my mental faculties came back online. Then it was a case of wait a minute. Who was that? Why's he here? A whole bunch of questions formed and I wanted answers.

I also wanted the bathroom door shut but I couldn't close it without leaving the shower and I didn't know where that man was. He'd already seen me once and he wasn't getting a second chance.

That was my intention but he didn't seem to care about my intentions. He walked back into the bathroom carrying some towels. He held one up, spreading it.

"Out," he said.

"If you think I'm coming out with you standing there," I began hotly and he simply shook the towel and repeated, "Out."

So I got out and he wrapped the towel around me, and my modesty was happy to have it. He picked up another towel and vigorously started drying my hair. Okay, so far, so good, but then he dropped the second towel and started patting me dry through the first towel, which was wrapped around me. It seemed very impersonal, but really, just how impersonal could it be seeing it was my naked body under that towel.

Standing up when he was happy I was dry, he reached for what I thought was an extra towel he'd brought with him. It wasn't. It was a very big, very warm-looking shirt, which he handed to me.

"Put this on," he told me, and happy I was to do so. "We'll worry about drying your clothes in the morning. Right now you need to be in bed and getting some sleep. Come along."

He took me to a bedroom, a bedroom totally dominated by this enormous bed. The bed also had big fluffy doonas, and big fluffy pillows, and I just couldn't wait to dive in. Then caution raised its wary head.

"Ah, where are you sleeping?" I asked delicately.

"Right there," he said. "The right side is my side. You can have the left. Before you ask no, there are no other beds currently available and you're not sleeping down-stairs on the couch. I am not having you start freezing again. If you're worried I might molest you, don't. It's a rule of mine not to molest drowned waifs until they've recovered enough to be able to fight, which right now you can't."

He pointed firmly at the bed and I nervously went and got in on the left side.

"Now go to sleep," he said and turned off the light.

I waited for him to come and get in, but he didn't. Then I was asleep, out like a light.

I woke up hours later. It was still dark and I was cuddled up next to something big. He was in the bed and asleep and I was snuggled up next to him, drawn by the heat of his body. I froze for a moment, wondering if he was going to wake up if I moved. I must have frozen for a bit too long as I fell asleep once more.

When I next woke up it was early morning. A little sunlight was filtering through the window, but it was still very early. It slowly dawned on me that we'd both moved during the night.

He was now lying on his left side with his arm outstretched. I was snuggled up to him, my back to him, using his arm as my pillow. That arm was curled around me and resting on my chest. Who am I kidding? The buttons on the shirt were undone and his left hand was curled over my left breast. Just holding it.

The problem was his right hand. It was down cupping my bottom, idly stroking it. It slowly registered that it wasn't just stroking it, it was moving further down, his fingers starting to touch me a lot more intimately. He kept on touching me there, his fingers gently probing my soft flesh. It was nerve wracking. I had to tell him to stop but -- it felt so good.

It slowly registered that the hand on my breast wasn't just resting there. It was also moving around, slowly to be sure, but moving around, stroking my breast, rubbing my nipple. I could feel that my nipples were erect, and they were feeling acutely sensitive, and his fingers were taking unfair advantage of that fact.

The real problem was downstairs, of course. His fingers just did not stop. They moved here and there, stroking me, probing, his fingernails ever so lightly dragging along my lips, causing the most exquisite feeling. He was getting to me to an extent that I was starting to move about a little restlessly.

That's when the real danger I was in registered. Moving my bottom slightly towards him I felt it. The shirt I had on had ridden up and I was naked from the waist down. Sure, if I stood up I'd be covered but I wasn't standing, was I? What my bare bottom was now brushing against with skin to skin contact was hard and hot and from what I could tell quite big, undoubtedly matching the rest of him in being over-size.

He wasn't trying to do anything to me. Yet. It was just his fingers, teasing, and teasing, and teasing. Incessantly teasing me and my body was reacting, demanding something else.

But you don't even know this man, I reminded myself. He's a stranger. But a kind stranger. He helped me out, took pains to look after me, didn't try to take advantage while I was effectively helpless.

He's trying to take advantage now, I reminded myself. Yes, but I can always say no. I mean, I could, couldn't I? Yes, of course I could. He just wasn't the type of man to force someone.

He was still touching me and I was still twisting about slowly and restlessly. Then things changed.

He adjusted the position of his erection and it was now protruding between my legs, the length of it pressing against my slit. I made some sort of noise, possibly in protest, possibly not.

He moved about, his cock slowly rubbing against me, sliding gently against my slit. I just knew that my lips had parted and were pouting, waiting to receive him. You can say no, I frantically reminded myself. Yes, but it feels so good, I also reminded myself.

He made another little adjustment, fingers spreading my lips a little more, and then he was there, pressing against me, wanting to enter.

I made another squeaky sort of sound, just lying there waiting, putting the full decision in his hands. That was a first for me. I'd always wanted to have a say as to whether I had sex or not. (Usually not. I certainly hadn't had it often.)

He was pressing slightly harder and I could feel my lips yielding, letting him pass. I gave a slightly relieved groan, feeling myself stretching and closing around him. His hand finally moving away from there, seeking and covering my other breast. Both hands were now tormenting my breasts and a sweet torment it was.

He was slowly moving deeper. He was in no hurry. He knew he had conquered and was quite happy to take his time consolidating his conquest. Slowly, far too slowly, he moved into me until finally he was fully in me, his groin pressed firmly against me.

That was just the start, of course. He would withdraw and return, still moving slowly, just fast enough to cause me to react to what he was doing. I'll swear I was whimpering slightly, wanting him to start a more vigorous action. It didn't happen. He just rocked slowly back and forth, pulling back and easing home again.

I was starting to get frantic. I needed more than this, really needed. I was pushing to meet him, trying to speed him up with my own actions. It didn't work. Sure we started to move faster but only just.

"Please," I finally groaned. "I need something more." And I did. I truly did.

"If that's what you want," he said, his voice sounding like warm honey. Had he sounded like that last night? I couldn't remember. Whatever, it didn't matter. He was starting to give me more.

He was now pulling back and thrusting home as though he meant it. I was giving a small cry of approval each time he thrust home, feeling immensely relieved that he was doing this.

His hands were clutching my breasts tightly and his hips were picking up the pace, thundering into me, my cries getting louder and more enthusiastic. It wasn't all that long before I was nearing a climax and he must have sensed it.

He picked up the pace one last time and then the world shattered around me as I screamed and climaxed, feeling him have his own climax deep inside me. (Thank god for the pill. I hadn't even thought of any other sort of protection until now when it was too late.)

I stayed where I was, curled against him, his arm around me, holding me comfortably.

"Go back to sleep," he told me. "It's far too early to get up. Catch another couple of hours and I'll let you up and we'll see about breakfast."

A couple of more hours sleep sounded a fine thing to me. I snuggled a little closer and closed my eyes. As I drifted off I couldn't help but wonder. Would he want to do it again the next time we woke? I suspected that he would and that I wouldn't be objecting.