“Oh God...” I tightened my lips and felt a moan rising in my throat.
I had a few fantasies in my imagination that always got me excited and the scrolling list of men willing to make me cum spun faster in my head as I picked up the pace. One day I hoped to find the right man so I wouldn’t have to rely on my imagination for excitement. Until that time came, my mental images were all I had.
“Don’t stop.” I moaned again, a little louder—I had no reason to be quiet while my imaginary lover ravaged my body.
I imagined his kiss, his touch, and a hard cock that swelled because he wanted me. I spread my legs wider and felt a strong tingling sensation in my abdomen. It was like electricity centered in my clitoris, expanding through me as I got closer and closer. I moaned slightly, groaning with each passing second of pleasure. The pace got faster and I was practically abusing my clitoris, forcing as much pleasure as I could out the moment.
“Harder.” I drew a panted breath that was coupled with a groan. “Make me cum!”
I bit down on my lip and kept going, pressing my hips upwards and then letting them sink down as I recoiled with the lust of my own touch. It didn’t take long for the feeling to overwhelm me and I knew I was at the point of no return. I held onto that moment, clinging to every bit of elation before the intoxication of titillation wore off—it came quicker than I would have liked. My orgasm was powerful, causing my vaginal walls to spasm slightly. I kept encircling my clitoris even as the orgasm started, trying to keep it going as long as possible. My whole body surged with pleasure as the feeling engulfed me. I kept my finger moving until it was so sensitive I couldn’t even stand to touch it.
“Wow...” The afterglow of my orgasm held me in the cradle of tranquility for a moment.
I think a performance that good deserves a cigarette.
I rarely smoked, but when I had a few drinks with friends, I usually ended up asking them for one. The first pack I had ever purchased with my own money was in my purse because I didn’t want to be a leech the whole weekend.
I tore the plastic that surrounded the pack and flipped open the box. The smell of tobacco made my stomach curl a little bit, but I knew I wouldn’t care once it was lit and I felt the first hit of nicotine. I pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, feeling warm all over. After a few drags, the car was filled with smoke and began to rethink the decision. I couldn’t crack a window which meant all my stuff would smell like smoke and the limited air supply I did have would be recycled nicotine for the rest of the night. I hated the smell of stale smoke, especially when it started to build in a circle around my face. I let it burn for a couple more puffs and then put it out in the bottom of my coffee cup, quickly covering it with the lid so the smell would be suffocated.
That was disgusting.
I was finally tired, to the point that I couldn’t keep my eyes open if I tried. The wine mixed with my orgasm had made me quite toasty, to the point I didn’t even care that I could see my breath if my lips weren’t covered. Sleep was coming for me so I closed my eyes and prayed for a miracle when the sun came up—if I could sleep that long. I pulled my coat and my extra clothes close as I snuggled in for what I expected to be a difficult night of sleep. The light buzz of nicotine wasn’t enough to overpower the fatigue I was feeling from head to toe.
Dear God, if you’re out there—please don’t let me die. I promise to go to church, read the Bible, sing hymns, whatever you want—just get me out of this alive.
Chapter 2: Shane
Earlier that day
After six years of living alone in the mountains, preparing for a snowstorm was second nature. When the weather said we were going to get hit by some snow and a little ice, I headed to the closest town so I could stock up. Kerosene for the generator was the main concern so all the food I had stored wouldn’t go to waste if I lost power, and then a little bit of inebriation to pass the time. I usually went for a bottle of whiskey and a few overpriced cigars.
The whiskey could be shit, but I would add a zero to the purchase for good hand-rolled tobacco. The impending storm would require a little distraction and I felt like I deserved it since I was celebrating another year in the middle of nowhere with nothing to worry about but my own survival. The weatherman on television said the coming storm was nothing to be afraid of, but I knew he was talking out of his ass. I could smell it in the air.
The fancy electronics they used to predict the weather had nothing on good old-fashioned experience and I knew we were looking at a rough few days—that would be the best-case scenario. If I didn’t trust my own judgment, the fact that the locals were busy clearing out the shelves was proof enough. I was overly cautious sometimes, but when the poorest residents on the mountain were grabbing premium bread because the generic brand was sold out, it was cause for concern. I had no reason to panic, I just simply got the stuff I needed and loaded them into my truck. Everyone was nice even enough, even if their accents were as Tennessee as they could be.
“Only one bottle?” Mr. Blanchard stared at the bottle of whiskey on the counter in front of him and then lifted his eyes to meet mine.
“Do you think I should go for two?” His stare was less than subtle, so I made the decision in my mind before he confirmed it.
“I would go for three—of the big bottles.” He pointed at the rack of whiskey and moved his finger towards the largest one they had. “I got those cigars you wanted as well.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you, Mr. Blanchard.” I picked up the bottle on the counter and walked back to the display. I traded it for the larger bottle and gathered three more in my arms.
My total flashed across the screen and I handed him some cash. I trusted Mr. Blanchard more than I trusted most folks. He wasn’t the type to push sales on anyone, so if he said I needed three, I probably needed four. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in a snowstorm without booze. It wasn’t like I had anything else to entertain myself with.
Fuck that.
I finished loadin
g my truck with the things I needed to survive and partially enjoy the damn storm. I looked around the sleepy town, bustling with more activity than I normally saw there when it wasn’t tourist season. I was ready to go home and crack open a bottle of whiskey, but I was hungry. I decided to walk across the street to the local diner for a late lunch. Even with all the activity in the town, it didn’t seem like anyone was eating there. I walked inside and surveyed the empty room. It didn’t take long for Mrs. Eaton to appear around the corner and wave for me to take a seat.
“Shane! It’s so good to see you. Let me get you a glass of sweet tea.” She smiled and then rushed over to the fridge.
“Thank you, Mrs. Eaton. Are you all set for the storm?” I sat down at one of the chairs in front of the long bar which was adorned with glass covered cylinders filled with cakes and pies.
“Yeah, Hank has boarded up the windows and fired up the generator. I’ll be heading home when the first flake starts falling.” She poured a glass of sweet tea and pushed it over to me. They had the best sweet tea I had ever tasted and I had no idea how the people who drank it every day weren’t already diabetic.
“Are you two going to make a snow baby?” I grinned at her and winked.