tagChain StoriesMidnight: Exposed

Midnight: Exposed


"Midnight ..." A Chain Story.


On March 1, 2007, fireyjen posted a thread with her idea for a chain story, soliciting interested authors. Shortly afterwards, fieryjens' ISP started giving her problems and she cannot get online, so on her behalf we thought we could give her a hand. The premise is that in each story the main character awakes at the stroke of midnight, or around that time. It can be a creaking floorboard, a rattling doorknob, a clap of thunder, a flash of lightning or just a feeling of unease and dread.

From this common beginning, each author is free to weave his or her own storylines culminating at midnight after 24 hours. Each story will be in a different Literotica category, with virtually all represented. All stories are titled "Midnight: (and the author's story identifier). After the initial New Story posting, all submissions will be in the Chain Story category.

We hope you enjoy this varied selection of stories by Literotica authors and your votes and comments are welcome. Below is an updated schedule of the stories.

TE999 & geekychick_76 on behalf of fieryjen.

* * * * *

"Dan Tanner," he said after stepping up to the counter at the La Quinta Inn. The flight had been a long one, with two connections and more than six hours in the air, three on the ground. He had left home eleven hours earlier; it was now almost nine at night. Dan's face was weary and haggard, with a shadow of stubble and the greasy sheen of Illinois humidity making his skin shine.

The middle-aged Asian woman was prompt and professional, calling up Dan's information on the computer before her. She cheerily handed him his room key.

"Dan Tanner," she repeated in her accented voice, dark eyes glittering above a playful smile. "Like that 70s TV show."

Dan tried his best not to look annoyed. "That was Dan Tanna," he corrected.

"Oh . . . ." she trailed off, still smiling. "Well, I hope you enjoy your stay, Mr. Tanner. Room 207."

He grumbled something along the order of a 'thank you' and headed through the doorway toward the stairwell. Room 207 was, thankfully, not too far from the second-floor door, opposite of which was a little nook with vending machines. Dan slipped the plastic card into the slot and pushed open the door.

Thank God, he thought as he felt the cool air within the room. They left the AC on. The curtains covering the window on the opposite side of the room billowed out, filled with the chilly air being blasted up from the undermounted unit. Dan felt the oily drops on his forehead cool immediately; he anticipated a long shower before lounging back upon one of the two beds in the room, comfortably naked, eating microwave popcorn and watching 'Adult Swim.'

The shower did wonders, washing away the sweat and the dank air of the airplane that seemed to have soaked into his pores. He brushed his teeth, but did not bother with shaving. That could wait for the morning.

Still, the stiffness was leaving his muscles and the cool air felt delicious on his skin. Dan took up the remote, standing naked in his room as he flipped through the channels. He watched a few moments of Discovery Health before settling on Comedy Central. The weariness in his body overcame him quickly enough, and he was soon asleep even before Tripping The Rift was over . . . .


He jerked awake with a start, finding that he had tangled himself in the sheets and floral-print blanket atop the bed. The AC was still blasting, and now the room felt cold. Gritting his teeth in discomfort, Dan rolled from the bed and roughly twisted the dial to turn the air off.

The spiderwebs of whatever dream that had jolted him awake drifted away, leaving only a few ethereal images that danced in the back of his mind. The television was flickering with images of talking french fries and stoned-looking cartoon characters. Dan took a moment to let himself return fully to reality, rubbing his eyes and temples. A glance to the clock between the two beds in the room told him it was exactly midnight. The Witching Hour.

Hunger inexplicably gnawed at him, as well as thirst. He smacked sticky, dry lips and thought of the vending machines just down the hall from his room. The lure of sugar and sodium called to him like a siren song. Irresistible, like seeing a rack of personalized lighters at the counter of a convenience store.

He considered slipping his slacks back on and donning a shirt, but the vending machines were just a few steps down the hall. It was after midnight, after all, one minute past, to be exact; the chance of anyone being out in the corridors was slim.

Fuck it, Dan thought, snatching up the towel he'd tossed on the bed. It just encircled his waist, with enough slack to tie the ends together. He looked at himself in the mirror and chuckled. Have to make sure not to make any sudden moves, he thought.

Key card and a few crumpled dollar bills in hand, Dan stepped from his door and padded on bare feet down the carpeted hallway. A mild thrill coursed through him as he felt a gentle breeze flowing over his body. The thought of being nearly naked, with the faint possibility of someone opening their door and catching him, sparked a tinge of arousal.

The reason for the breeze became apparent once he reached the nook with the vending machines. A door on the other side of the enclosure had been propped open by a trash can; Dan was not sure if it had been that way when he had first come up from the lobby. The fresh air was cool but not cold, carrying a scent of ozone with it. He remembered something about the Chicago weather report saying that rain was a possibility.

The faint breeze tugged at his towel like the hands of mischievous imps as he fed the vending machines the dollar bills. He glanced to the open door as he retrieved his Diet Coke and M&Ms. The sign on the wall beside the doorway read 'Stairs and Roof Access.'

His arousal spiked again as a memory came back, pulled up from one and a half decades of dormancy. Sophomore year in college, drinking with his buddies, being dared to streak through Hollings Hall in nothing but his tennis shoes . . . .

Dan laughed at the memory. He remembered the shocked, giggling, and sometimes interested looks the young coeds had given him as they watched him running through the dorm. Word had spread quickly, and girls were soon peeking out of every door. Some had even smacked his butt as he darted past. That single night, never repeated, had earned him the nickname 'Flash.'

His parents had always assumed it was because of his track records.

The lingering exhilaration of exhibitionism returned with the memory, enticing him. Dan eyed the stairwell speculatively. He knew that the reasonable course of action would be to return to his room, watch a little TV, maybe jack off if that was what it took to satisfy his libido.

But he had spent most of his twenties and all of his thirties being 'reasonable.' A reasonable job, a reasonable salary, a reasonable marriage that had not worked out . . . .

Fuck it, thought Dan once more as he stepped toward the stairwell. I'm a thousand miles from home. If I can't break out of my mold here, then where can I?

* * *

Nicole Teske – called Nikki, or, by her room mate, Nik-Nik – had just come up the stairs to the second floor when she saw the well-built man heading to the opposite stairwell, past the vending machines. It took her a moment to register what she was seeing: a nearly-naked man, wearing only a towel, walking as comfortably and calmly as if he were alone in his house. A moment later, he was gone, turning past the other side of the doorway toward the stairs beyond.

Nikki blinked, feeling a slight rush rumble its way through her body. There was no accounting for it, none that she could rationalize. She had seen men in towels before; at twenty-six, she was hardly a virgin, and had enjoyed her share of wild times . . . and men. But there was something about this man in just a towel. His body, his casual confidence, the movement of muscles beneath his skin. He was sexy.

The plastic bag in Nikki's hand felt heavy, laden with munchies and cigarettes from the corner store down the street. She knew she should have gone back to her room to work on the details of the presentation she was due to give the following morning at the Insurance Adjusters convention. She was in Chicago on business, after all. This was not a vacation.

But all work and no play makes Nikki a dull girl, she thought with a mischievous tug at the corners of her mouth. Oh, hell, he's probably just going to his room . . . upstairs . . . .

But wouldn't they have their own vending machines on the third floor?

* * *

Dan paused at the third-floor landing, looking up toward the roof access door thirteen steps above him. Excitement mingled with anxiety made him feel his heart thumping in his chest. The door stood wide-open, and for a moment, Dan wondered if there was some maintenance worker on the roof. The breeze blowing down through the door swept across him more firmly, almost threatening to divest him of the towel. Reflexively, he clutched at the knot that held it in place, and ascended the stairs.

The roof was dark, bathed in shadow, with streetlight streaming up from below, creating a pale whitish haze just beyond the edge of the roof. Moonlight fell upon the gravel that covered the roof, providing just enough light that Dan could see where his feet took him. His relatively pale skin glowed slightly.

His eyes darted about, looking for the phantom maintenance man. But the shadows did not stir; there was no one about. Dan wondered as to why the roof door would be allowed to remain open, then decided it was not worth wondering why.

This is serendipity, he thought. One of those moments in life when you're handed a golden apple. So, are you going to take a bite of forbidden fruit, Dan? Or are you going to throw the apple away and go back to safer pastures?

A wicked grin split Dan's face. Stepping carefully, he avoided the larger pieces of gravel and made his way to the middle of the roof, leaving the door glowing and open behind him. The crisp air, stronger now with the scent of ozone, caressed him. It was a sensual feeling, one he wanted to feel everywhere. He stooped for a moment, setting his soda and candy on the roof, then straightened and removed the towel.

"Ahh . . . ."

The moment the damp night air touched his genitals, Dan felt his arousal grow exponentially. The thrill of being naked, outdoors at night, with hundreds of people below him in the hotel none the wiser, was indescribable. He could hear unintelligible voices drifting up from the parking lot below, which was shared by the hotel with a diner. There were no buildings near enough to threaten Dan with the chance of being casually spotted.

He was safely hidden from casual eyes, yet still exposed. The exhilaration was palpable to him; he could touch it, and it touched back, running over his body, stroking, caressing, urging him.

He closed his eyes, extended his arms, tilted his head back. He felt the radiance of the moon, glowing with reflected light from the sun on the other side of the world. Cotton-like wisps of cloudstuff drifted across the moon's surface, blurring the face upon it that smiled down upon him.

Oh, to be the Moon, Dan thought. Watching the world below, seeing everything in its entirety. What secrets you must know . . . .

A car pulled into the parking lot below, speakers blaring music. Nine Inch Nails. Dan chuckled. He remembered when Trent Reznor's 'industrial' sound was new; now, almost twenty years later, his music was timeless, raw. It seemed the perfect compliment for what Dan was doing.

He began with small movements at first, just taking in the music as it was filtered up to him through the chaos of traffic on the highway. Somewhere distant, thunder rumbled, but it only added to the powerful beat and grinding message of the music.

"The only thing that works for me/

Help me get away from myself . . . ."

Dan had never considered himself much of a dancer; he had decidedly 'white boy' moves, and knew it. Dancing was part of the urban nightlife mating ritual, to which Dan never felt he belonged. But there were times, like now, alone and naked in the world, in which he could feel the music directing him. Without the self-conscious anxiety of knowing others were watching him, Dan let his body, his hands, move in ways that might have otherwise embarrassed him.

The idea of letting go was an even more powerful aphrodisiac than his nudity, and he went with it, allowing himself to be free and expressive.

All without the knowledge that he was being watched the entire time.

* * *

Nikki's hunch had paid off, and she allowed herself a congratulatory grin as she peered around the corner of the doorway, watching the man on the roof. He was less than twenty feet away, bathed in moonlight, silhouetted against the world by the ghostly glow that shimmered at the edge of the rooftop. Naked, he looked even more delicious than when he'd had the towel on.

She could just hear the pounding, erotic beat of Nine Inch Nails emanating from somewhere below, and could not blame the man for being inspired by the music. She had a special place in her erotic memories for the carnal music; she'd once made love to an ex-boyfriend throughout the entire course of a NIN album. They had been the strongest orgasms she had ever experienced.

He moves like a male stripper, Nikki thought, watching the man with all the naughty excitement of a child peering upon Santa Claus as presents were laid by the tree. Damn, he's got nice arms, strong, muscular . . . and a butt I could nibble on all day . . . .

Nikki held back a gasp as he turned in profile to her. His penis was semi-hard, hanging down thickly at an angle from his body. His pubic hair was like a wispy dark cloud around the base. Nikki felt her own excitement growing, wetness seeping into her panties as she watched the man's cock grow and stiffen. His hands wandered up and down his body as he danced, occasionally brushing his swelling shaft.

Oh, God, please, she thought, licking her lips in anticipation. Please do it . . . .

The sight of a man masturbating had always turned Nikki on. As a teenager, she had caught her older brother pleasuring himself one day in his bedroom, and watched through the crack of his slightly-open door as his strong hand stroked up and down his cock. The sight of his semen spurting from the tip of his dick onto his stomach had made Nikki weak in the knees.

Her boyfriends had often been reluctant to indulge her fantasy of watching a man jack off, and Nikki pined for the day in which she could catch another man masturbating. Now, finally, she had her chance.

"Do it," she whispered, then caught her breath, afraid the man might have heard her. But he did not; he was still caught up in his own fantasy world.

Subconsciously, Nikki slipped her hand beneath her skirt, rubbing herself through the thong that barely covered her pussy, in anticipation of watching this handsome stranger do what she so ardently hoped he would . . . .

* * *

Dan couldn't believe how aroused he was. The combination of being naked outdoors, with the night air lusciously flowing around him, the fresh, charged air, the music . . . his libido was in high gear, sending messages to his groin. As he danced, Dan looked down to his crotch to see his cock engorged to its full impressive length. It swayed back and forth, gloriously enjoying the feel of the wind and ozone-charged air.

He smoothed his hands down his torso, still muscular and flat even in his mid-thirties, and gathered his cock and balls in his hands. He breathed in, biting his lip, calling up a fantasy. His cock twitched as his hand wrapped around the shaft. Slowly, he began pumping it. Pre-cum seeped from the tip; he could actually see it glistening in the moonlight. The fingers of his other hand pressed into his balls, massaging them, sending erotic chills through his body.

He rolled his hips in time with the music that wafted up to him; no longer Nine Inch Nails, now it was Stabbing Westward. Maybe the sensuality of the music wasn't as direct, but it remained basically raw and inspiring.

His left hand joined his right around his shaft, gripping it tightly, and he kept them still as he moved his hips. His fantasy conjured up some willing and uninhibited slut, on her knees, accepting his thrusts into her mouth. His cock slid back and forth in his tight, two-handed grip, lubricated by the precum seeping out. He groaned in pleasure. Every nerve in his body tingled with excitement.

* * *

Nikki whimpered as she watched the man masturbating. The entire scene was just too much for her; her pussy was literally dripping, sweet fluid soaking into the material of her thong. Hurriedly, no longer caring if her movements caught the man's attention, she reached beneath her skirt and slid the undergarment down, feeling the silk fabric cling to her swollen lips for a moment before they were falling to her ankles. Her hand returned instantly to her overheated pussy, stroking the lips. The aroma of her arousal surrounded her.

God, just look at him, she thought. Oh, fuck, he's so sexy . . . and what a beautiful thick cock . . . damn, I could suck and fuck that thing all day and be happy . . . oh!

Her mental gasp became a real one, and once more, Nikki bit her lip to hold back any further utterances. She could not remember a time when she had been more turned on. Her juices literally dribbled down the insides of her thighs as she stroked her pussy. Her clit buzzed each time her fingers passed over it; the lubrication she exuded allowed the tips of her French-nailed fingers to slip inside her with ease.

Leaning with one shoulder against the doorway, Nikki arched her back, pushing up on the tips of her toes as she spread her legs and plunged two fingers inside her needy pussy. Her palm smacked wetly against her stiff clit. Her eyes were heavy with lust, yet she was determined not to miss a moment as the man – this gorgeous fucking man – masturbated before her. Images of being in front of him, on her knees, or bent over, letting him take her, ravish her, fuck her, filled her mind.

Her orgasm was already building, rolling fast and sure and undeniable through her body. Nikki only hoped its arrival would not distract her, would not rob her of a single moment.

* * *

The rest of the world became tuned out; Dan wasn't hearing the music anymore, wasn't thinking of anything but the pleasure of the moment. And what pleasure it was. Masturbating upon the roof of a hotel, bathed in moonglow, crisp night air caressing his body like the hands of sexy, invisible muses . . . .

He felt his balls tighten, his orgasm beginning its slow, inexorable march up through his cock, just as the first drops of rain fell upon him. The added sensation only heightened the eroticism of the moment. The rain began to fall in earnest, deluging him. It soaked into his hair and ran in rivulets down his body. Some of the stinging drops pelted the tip of his cock, making him twitch in pleasure.

There came a crack of thunder, a flash of lightning directly overhead. Just at the moment of release, Dan pressed the middle finger of his left hand into the base of his cock, stemming the eruption for a moment. He felt his PC muscle contract and flex, pushing up the fluid. For a moment, he held his orgasm in check, grunting with the effort.

Then he brought his hands away, and let the flood gates erupt.

* * *

The glistening water flowing down over the stranger's body only accentuated his sexiness. Here was a modern god, Nikki thought, primal and earthy, uninhibited and arousing. At home with his sexuality, enjoying his own body the way Nikki wished she could. She loved the way the rain washed over him, accentuating his corded muscles, making that fucking gorgeous cock glisten.

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