tagHumor & SatireTwas a Dark and Stormy Night

Twas a Dark and Stormy Night


Clarry one of our members, an author of some standing, (can I do her justice?) told her story one winter evening, she joined us after a meeting with her publisher. There was about five or six of us there that evening and I just had to write the story up as we had enjoyed it so much it was a must to share. Unlike many of our members, as an author, Clarry had a descriptive style of relating her story and I have tried to tell the tale in her way.


We all have our moments don't we girls, somehow things just don't fall right...Well, maybe they do, but it's a case of taking advantage of things that arise, nudge nudge, wink wink. Let me tell you about my 'adventure'.

My home was an ancient cottage miles from anywhere out in the country. Comfortable enough, it suited me well as I preferred the isolation while I worked on my novels, I was quite well known for what was politely called 'Bodice rippers'.

I am Clarrisa, my friends call me Clarry so I am going to leave it at that, I won't disclose the name I write under, as from there it is just a short step to my agent finding out and telling me I am bringing the publishing house into disrepute and I can't have that, so Clarry it's going to be, and I am a little bit under fifty, well to be honest forty nine and eleven months.

I suppose, truth to tell, I should have taken some sort of classes or something when I bought the place, with it being so isolated and that. I didn't, so other than simple, and I mean simple, emergency things, the cottage has over the years become somewhat dilapidated, and in need of serious work. However, you guys don't want to hear about my DIY skills, well not DIY to do with household maintenance anyway.

My story starts a few years ago now. I was tapping away one finger typing on my old Imperial typewriter. I wasn't going anywhere, so I hadn't dressed up, I had got up about six in the morning, slopped around for most of the day writing, slurping coffee, you girls will probably remember, well the older ones among us will, pipe cleaner and tissue paper used as curlers, by god did they make us look a sight and because I had a presentation dinner coming up I had decided on a face pack and you all know what they look like, and this one was green!

My dressing gown had seen better days, although I did have a 'best' that I kept for when I had to go away. Same with my slippers, light, well grubby blue, with a sort of artificial fur trim, flannel night gown, to about mid calf with dear little blue flowers and a sweet little lace trim around the sort of deep V neck.

I know its just a bit naughty, but home alone and working, I don't usually wear drawers, nobody around, nobody's business, it also saves a moment or two if I am in full spate writing, I have a pot of coffee for the same purpose. Of course, with the style of tale that I wrote, I have been known to get a bit well you know, and the absence of drawers makes it easier to relieve the tension.

It was, here's the cliché, a dark and stormy November evening, my beloved elderly Alsatian, Herman stirred and nudged me a reminder for his dinner. I flicked the light on as I entered the kitchen only to be plunged in an instant into darkness again. Feeling with my feet across the uneven flagstone floor I returned to the hallway and flicked the light switch. Still the darkness resisted attempts to dispel it.

I groped for the ancient hurricane lamp which I kept beside the dusty book case in the study in the hope of never needing it. I suppose common sense would have suggested that matches or some other method of lighting it should have been kept close to it. I fumbled around; I'm good at fumbling, found the matches and lit the lamp. Turning, I trod on Herman, he yelped.

I muttered a curse; the silence was rent by, first a creaky groan, then a resounding crash of the knocker at the cottage door followed by the same sounds repeated. The old iron bolt made a shocking noise and clunk as it hit the stop. The latch was equally noisy as it lifted. The hinges groaned eerily, I kept meaning to oil them, as I opened the door.

Of course, if it ended there, where would the story be?

All hell broke loose as the old cottage door swung open. My hair in curlers. Face pack on, the guttering hurricane lamp held at waist level and my dear hungry old Herman howled in the most distressing way as dogs do.

I was shocked and horrified as the young man at the door collapsed to the floor with a blood curdling scream, his hair literally standing on end. I say young man, it was dark, and I just had a glimpse as he slid to the floor. Who ever he was he had imagination.

Leaving the cottage door open, I led Herman back to the kitchen, fed him, and closed the kitchen door, I knew Herman would be content there for a while. Passing the hall mirror I jumped out of my skin, catching sight of myself in the lamp light.

I put the lamp down, and carefully returned to the door. The lad was beginning to come round.

"Are you alright?"

He moaned.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, the electric has failed."

"I've broken down...my car...down the road"

He was as white as a sheet and shaking like a leaf as I helped him to his feet.

"You are quite safe...nothing here to hurt you...honestly." I smiled.

I led him to the kitchen, as I opened the door there was a deep throaty growl from Herman in the darkness of the kitchen.

"Good boy Herman, it's alright." The sounds in the darkness of his food bowl being pushed about on the flag stones said that he had returned to his dinner.

I pulled out a chair.

"Sit yourself down." I placed the hurricane lamp on the table.

"Let me get you a cup of tea." I had an old Aga cooker; the simmering kettle was only just off the boil.

As he supped the tea, gradually his apparent shock appeared to diminish, the tremors slowly dying away. Even his hair appeared no longer to be standing on end.

Small talk, I thought. Well, as you do.

"What shall I call you, what's your name?"

I swear, you couldn't write it, no one would believe you if you did. Particularly with the course of events which had got us to this point.

"Damien...Damien Spookes"

How did I ever keep a straight face?

"I don't mean to be rude, but when you opened the door, and the dog howled and all the scraping and creaking noises, and your appearance it scared the, excuse me, shit, out of me."

It wasn't kind of me I know, but I just had to laugh.

"With a name like that, YOU got scared?"

We both had to laugh.

" You had best call me Clarry, most of my friends do. How come I got the pleasure of your company?"

"That's a lousy road, I came round the bend the rain on my windscreen left me all but blind, I wasn't going fast, honest, the tree is down across the road and I skidded into it."

"How unfortunate."

"Yours was the only house I could see."

"It's a good job I was home."

"I almost wish you hadn't been, the scare you gave me. Can you phone the garage for me?"

"If the tree is down, the line will be too."

"How far is the garage?"

"About five miles, but they are not open at this time of the day."

"Not my day is it? Is there somewhere I can get a room?"

This young man, I'd put him at about 19, young enough to be my son, was actually quite presentable. Dark hair slicked down with Brylcream, clean shaven and suited, and it was the first time I had seen those new fangled winkle picker shoes, I guessed that the heels of those shoes was what made him roughly my height.

"Well, if you could put up with sleeping in this creepy old cottage, you could stay the night."

"Are you sure, it wouldn't put you out?"

"Of course not."

As I spoke, I half panicked, basically my home was a "bachelor pad" I had only one bedroom in use, heck, I was much too busy with my writing to clean and care for the parts of the house I didn't need.

Of course girls, we are all geniuses aren't we and realization will confirm the fact that one person with one bedroom, will have...yes, one bed! Settee? Sofa? Nope!

"I suppose I had better offer you a meal...sausages or fish fingers? Bread...eggs & bacon?"

"Are you going to eat?"

"I suppose."

"Well, may I have the same as you?"

"Sausages it is then."


"Damien Spookes... what a name...Tell me about you. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?"

"Just passing through as I am going well, was going north. I heard that some guys were looking for someone to join a band, so I thought I would give it a try."

"And the car?"

"It's my dad's; I had to promise to look after it. He's going to kill me!"

"I doubt that young man, I doubt that; Dads have usually had accidents themselves now just relax and we will have a look at it in the morning."

Dinner, a highly sophisticated sausage, bacon, egg, and chips, with a glass of red, romantically illuminated by the hurricane lamp, passed without incident, well very nearly, there was something but not really an incident, I noticed that Damien was watching my neck line, well more my cleavage, what I had of it, my tits had headed south over the years, but he appeared fascinated.

Noticing that of course also had an effect. A tingle, for the want a better expression, down below, in the knickers department, well it would have been the knickers department had I been wearing any, as it was, I guess it was in the jungle area!

I expected the evening to be a little challenging as bedtime approached, and indeed, so it turned out to be. My thoughts had been on managing the bedroom situation, one bed, a double, two bodies, no bolster, a couple of spare blankets a spare pillow or two, and, if my observations were correct, a case of rampant male hormones, and a not dis-interested female.

How to manage the situation, how indeed?

"I guess that you are not inclined towards boys are you?"

"Not that I have noticed, girls seem to like bands, would be a bit of a waste."

"Just as I thought."

He blushed deeply.

I have told you of the run down state of the cottage, the need for maintenance. Well, you can stretch that need to almost everything to do with my old cottage, from the plumbing to the furniture, and not to put too fine a point on it, even to the bed. It should have been replaced years ago, but dammit, it was comfortable. I inherited it from my granny, well via my father but anyway, it could be traced back a few years. So it creaked a little, and had a copy of Dickens's Great Expectations, hard back, first edition, propping up one corner.

Great expectations? It had been a very long time since I had any expectations in that bed, let alone great ones!

Damien followed me up the creaking stair case. His hot breath on my rump, when I hesitated, he bumped into me.

"I have left everything in the car; I didn't expect to be away from it overnight."

The bedroom door latch clunked, and the hinges complained, they always did as the sturdy door opened to reveal the scene inside. I have to admit being just a little embarrassed as I realised that the chamber pot was visible beneath the bed. I bent, to move the useless reading light from the bedside cabinet, replacing it with the hurricane lamp.

I was aware that as I bent over my night gown had ridden up, being a long gown it had only revealed my calves to the young man behind me.

He coughed.

"I don't have any pyjamas."

"I have none to lend you, wear your shirt."

Then thought, 'it's not going to be on for long... Shut up Clarry. What are you thinking, he's much too young?'

My loins didn't say that, I suppose a combination with my obsessive writing of naughty novels, and the close proximity of the youthful hormones and of course the length of time since I had a good rogering were leading me to an inevitable plateau of desire. (Desire? Well, it was turning to rampant lust really.)

To illuminate the bathroom for our ablutions, it was necessary to leave the door open. As I lifted my night dress to use the w.c...

"You will be a young gentleman won't you? I hope you won't be peeping?"

Some hope of that I thought, I could see him squinting into the gloom, in the hope I suspect of a glimpse of something he shouldn't.

Having pee'd I turned, first to cool my essentials with a wet flannel, the back of my night dress concealed me from behind as surely as the cold flannel brought forth life to my suddenly chilled being, then to clean my teeth. A hair net over my curlers completed my toilette.

In his turn, Damien stood before the w.c. his cock concealed in his hand, in the gloom I imagined that what I could see was at the very least a reasonable start to an erection, it was obvious that he was having some difficulty peeing.

"Do you need a hand?"

"No, I'll clean my teeth first, do you have a spare tooth brush."

"On the side, the blue one, and that wet flannel may help with the other problem."

"What other problem."


I watched intently as he cleaned his teeth, he glanced over his shoulder, unbuckled his belt and allowed his trousers to fall to the floor, exposing his pale slightly hairy legs. His pants came down next, followed by a groan, as I suppose the cold wet flannel did its work, at a guess I would say it was a case of erect to flaccid in zero seconds. I shivered at the thought.

He shuffled to the toilet and pee'd long and noisily into the water before stepping from the trousers and pants swaddling his ankles.

A little about the bed!

It was, as I said, old. It had a substantial brass head and foot board, connected by old iron rails upon which were laid long boards, not fixed. About six inches above the boards, and attached at head and foot was a sheet spring type of thing. In appearance similar to a close knit chain link fence, don't ask how old it is, I think its original. It provided a beautiful soft springiness. On top again I had a, not too thick mattress, and a duvet finished a very comfortable nest. It was like sinking into a pair of loving arms, and I have spent many a winter night in its warm embrace.

Here I am, desperate to take advantage of the hormones screaming through that stormy night. Every other, and there had been just one or two, bed mate I had during my time at the cottage, had been sedate older gentlemen about my own age, and on at least one occasion, befuddled with drink. Simplicity Itself.

My recent experience of youth, my own long forgotten, was limited and I wasn't quite prepared for the level of enthusiasm my new found friend was to deliver.

I sneaked into the bed between the cover, determined to rid myself of the night dress yet conceal my aging frame from this youths eyes. I had done no such thing by the time he had reached the door.

"I always sleep on the left side of the bed," I told him, " so you can sleep on the right."

"No problem." He replied as he rounded the foot of the bed, his clothes in his arms, and his rigid cock sticking out from his shirt.

He dropped his clothes, his shoes making a clatter as they hit the floor, then sat on the side of the bed.

"What about the door? You didn't close it."

"Sorry" he hurried to close it, totally unselfconscious of his cock bouncing in the cool air.

What happened next I would never have believed, he ran back to the bed, and launched himself at it. Well, as I told you, the bed had seen better days the under boards went flying, clattering to the floor beneath, the light mesh spring, mattress, the bedding, me and Damien all but disappeared into the hole the dislodged boards had created.

I couldn't move, my night dress which I had not managed to remove before he had initially entered the bedroom, was wrapped tight about me and this young bundle of hormones was on top of me further restricting my movement.

"Sorry..sorry...sorry, I didn't mean to break your bed."

Herman, in the kitchen was going demented. He wasn't used to such a racket disturbing the peace of the household.

"Just get off and get me out of here."

He got off, and did his best, his rapidly diminishing erection disappearing behind the flap of his shirt, to haul me out of the hole he had dumped me into. Having pulled the duvet off, he took my hand and started to heave , I slithered to the side, my night dress falling back to expose my naked hairy.. you know what.

God, I was horny, knowing that I was exposed to his lustful gaze did nothing to cool my ardour, even if it had killed, hopefully only temporally, Damien's hard on. As I regained my feet, my night dress fell back to cover my cooling, moist essential.

"Don't just stand there gawping, you've seen a blinking fanny before haven't you?"

"Nnno, Nnno, not really!"

Suddenly his bravado had evaporated. So had his confidence.

"Just give me a hand to sort out this mess."

Together, we reconstructed the bed, the boards back in place...

"You could do with a few screws in that ." Damien suggested.

"It was the prospect of a screw that landed us in this situation." I countered.

He grinned, a sort of sickly, shy, grin.

...under the sheet spring, then the mattress and the bedding itself, I took the opportunity to put on fresh sheets. Damned stupid really given that I expected to be indulging in some potentially messy activities before the night was out.

Finally, the bed was ready, I turned back the bedding, the reconstruction of the bed had certainly warmed me.

"Right, now into bed, unless you want to spend the night on the floor."

Damien started to move.

"Gently, I don't want the bed wrecked again."

I waited until he was into bed, he laid out flat, the bedding pulled up to his chin, before I extinguished the hurricane lamp and eased myself into the bed. I shivered as I cautiously pulled the covers over me.

Damien turned towards me.

"Clarry" his voice trembled as he spoke.


" Sorry about the bed, I just didn't think."

"It Doesn' t matter now."

"Its not very warm is it"

"No power, No heating."

"Oh... of course, I didn't think."

"Here, snuggle up to me."

He started to shuffle closer to me.

"Gently mind."

I had my back to him as he snuggled close. A moment passed, then something stirred. He wriggled uncomfortably.

"Gently," I chided.

"I am sorry, I...I..."

"Just make yourself comfortable."

He did, his cock lodged between my cheeks...No, not my face, my arse cheeks. And, I have to say, the size of it was not a disappointment...lodged between my arse cheeks.

His arms came around me and hugged me, muzzling into my neck. Fine!

Now you girls have to admit, you are all old enough know about these things, boys, young teen boys, they are horny, and it doesn't matter how hard they try, they just can't keep their hands to themselves....

Well dears, this one couldn't, I'm not complaining mind, I have needs, just like the rest of you, and when his hand reached my breast, I started to relax, happy to accept that my luck might be in. I am not sure if he took my relaxing to mean that I wasn't interested, or otherwise. I almost panicked, I didn't want him to stop at the first hurdle.

He was at this stage moving his hand outside of my night dress, I tried a hint, I pulled at the neckline to make things a little more accessible. He took advantage and his hand entered and stole down squeezing my breasts and seeking out my nipples.

I am sure, girls, that experience will confirm what I am about to say. With Damien's hand in the top of my night dress, his wrist pressed down as he fondled his new found treasure, which I assure you, I welcomed, the result was becoming more uncomfortable across the back of my neck.

"A little consideration young man, a little consideration."

"What's wrong?"

"You are making my neck uncomfortable."

"Should I stop?" he removed his hand.

"You could just change your approach."

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