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I began to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Gabriel grinned at me lasciviously. “With all that blood we got pumping inside you, your head is going to start pounding any minute now... Just as soon as the pounding in your pussy wears off.”
So I acquiesced and felt my eyelids start to flutter almost instantaneously, heavy with the swirling of dreams. Willing them not to close so that my eyes could savor him just a little longer, I leaned forward slightly and this time he took my hand. “Gracias, angelita. This was definitely one hell of an unexpected...and delicious...send-off. Any time I feel a pang of loneliness in Aracataca, I’ll take myself back to this moment and revel in tonight.” Gabriel kissed me just once more with lust on his breath, crossed the room and looked back at me as I was already drifting off. He closed the door behind him, whispering, “Que sueñes con los angelitos.” And I could feel my dreams cascading over me before I even heard the door click shut.
I slowly wake. A smile creeps across my face before I bother to think of opening my eyes, the early dawn just barely edging out the night. Luxuriating in this sensuous feeling, I give myself a minute to bask in the glow of the previous night before welcoming the break of daylight. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, my cheeks already flushed with the thought of how I can prove to myself that last night’s thrills were not a dream. I bring my fingers to my face and inhale. Yes, last night was definitely real. An incredibly hot send-off on a long journey for him, a much briefer one for me. Today I get discharged from Misericordia, my head suddenly feeling perfectly clear. The excitement at being able to go home to my own bed and real life again washes over my pleasurable memories.
Not wanting to watch the clock, I think up an ingenious way to pass the time. I decide to do something I’ve never done before—fill out a comment card. They ask you to offer praise or helpful suggestions, so why wouldn’t I bestow accolades upon the most praiseworthy nurse I had ever had the pleasure of attending me? Using disguised language, I lay out the details that made my stay at Misericordia unlike any other: Gabriel’s personal touch, his attention to detail, how he went above and beyond, even his meticulousness with my IV—they all are given the proper acknowledgment that they deserve. I grin as I write out the last line: He seems bound for success. Noting one blank spot on the card, I set out for the nurse’s station. He may never know the extent of my gratitude, but at least I would have the satisfaction of putting it out there.
I ask the head nurse for Gabriel’s last name and she stares at me quizzically, cocking her head just slightly. “I’m sorry, miss, I’ve been here a long time and as far back as I can recall, we’ve never had a nurse, or anyone actually, employed in this hospital by that name.”
A flash of pain darts across my vision as my memories start to spiral. Reality slides out from under me, twisting in slow motion, sending everything around me spinning.
ROPE DROUGHT
Teresa Noelle Roberts
Rain on the roof of the farmhouse woke them, the soft drumming alien after six rainless weeks. The sound infiltrated slowly, filling Ellie’s senses, filling a body that had felt as parched as their fields and pastures until she felt compelled to spring from bed, shut off the ancient, struggling air conditioner and fling open the other windows to let in the earthy, damp breeze. Energy zinged through her. She’d never thought of rain on the roof as an erotic sound, but to a farmer, after a drought, each drop that shushed on the roof sounded like a sigh of pleasure. She could imagine the rain as a thousand hands, caressing their crops and pastures—caressing her and Zeke too. Silly, maybe, but the image excited her, or maybe it was just the sheer animal joy of moisture in the air at last. “Come on!” she urged until Zeke followed her lead, going from room to room until every window and door in the old farmhouse was open to the night and the rain.
They stood on the back porch, naked and finally, blessedly, not overheated, watching the rain as it fell in slow, steady sheets, illuminated by the porch light. “The Weather Channel said that if this front reached us and didn’t pass right over, it should rain on and off all week. Too bad there’s no thunder,” Ellie whispered, cuddling close to Zeke. “Lightning and thunder would make it perfect.”
Zeke kissed the top of her head. “I know you love your thunderstorms, but this is the kind of rain we need.” Unlike Ellie, Zeke had been raised on a farm, and he knew in his bones all the things Ellie was trying to learn from reading and talking to the neighbors, who were both amused by and supportive of their efforts to turn the failed dairy farm into a mixed-used organic farm, with vegetables and humanely raised meat.
Zeke pulled her close, as if relieved the cool breeze finally allowed it. “Quiet rain’s steady,” he explained. “Big flash-bangs don’t last long. Rain comes down too hard, too fast and most of it just runs off. This isn’t as dramatic but should go until morning before it tapers off.”
“Like you.” She grinned at him and saw his answering smile, bright against his tanned face even in the dark. Her farmer wasn’t flashy, wasn’t loud, but boy could he go on until morning.
That is, he could when they weren’t both too stressed by the lack of rain that pushed their makeshift irrigation setup past its limits (who ever thought you’d need to irrigate in central New York, where too much rain was the more usual problem?); the crisp, browning grass in pastures that should have been lush for their young beef cattle; the knowledge that all the farms around them were just as bad off, so hay, if anyone had it to spare, would be expensive; the nasty choice they might soon face of slaughtering early or switching to corn feed, an added expense that would lower the price and quality of what they’d hoped would be the grass-fed beef that commanded a premium price in city markets. And feed corn mostly came from the Midwest, where the drought was far worse. It was only their second year on the farm, and even if the weather had been perfect, they’d have been struggling some. Farming was never easy and they had a lot to learn, even Zeke. But the drought made everything hard and frightening.
It had been a long dry summer in a lot of ways. But now that the weather had broken, maybe the sex-drought could break as well. Ellie felt Zeke’s cock stirring against her, as he, too, experienced the sound of the rain, the rain-wet wind, as wild, damp caresses.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Ellie tugged on his arm.
“We’re naked.” He sounded amused.
“I know. Won’t the rain feel nice on your skin?”
She danced out of his arms, danced off the porch and spun around on the little path through the herb-and-flower garden, sad and wilted, but starting to perk up a bit in the rain. “It’s so warm and silky!” She began to laugh, softly at first, then bubbling out loud and clear. There were no neighbors to disturb, just like there were no neighbors to see them cavorting around naked. It was one of the attractions of this particular farm, one of the reasons they’d chosen it. Farming was hard work, but Ellie and Zeke had hoped they’d be able to play as hard as they worked—and they didn’t like their play confined to a bedroom any more than they liked their work confined to an office.
Zeke stepped off the porch. “God, this feels good.”
“I feel like a plant, like I’ve been dry so long I need to stay out here and soak up the rain.”
All lean muscle and slick skin and hard cock, Zeke caught her in his arms and kissed her. As she relaxed into the kiss, into the wonder of his body in the soft, necessary rain, he grabbed her wrists and brought her arms together behind her back, where he could clasp both wrists with one big hand. “I know what you need,” he whispered, pausing to lick water droplets off her ear. “What I need, too. I need to take you hard, out here.”
“Honoring the rain.” Ellie writhed against him. “Like some ancient pagan ritual.”
“If outdoor sex makes it keep raining, why not?” He bent his head to suckle her nipple. His mouth was hot, ravenous, and the way her arms were trapped—the way she was trapped by his wiry farmer’s strength—went right to her cunt. She moaned as she moved to straddle his thigh, grinding herself against him, leaving a hotter, slicker trail on his already moist, damp skin.
“Behave!” He smacked her ass with his free hand. She giggled and stuck her butt out, wiggling, which encouraged him to smack her a few more glorious times in rapid succession.
How long had it been since he’d spanked her? Too long, long enough that she jumped away from the sting, so much sharper than it used to be when they were playing regularly, before the rain stopped falling and the fear closed in. As soon as she jumped away, though, she pressed back toward his hand and begged, “Please...”
“Please what?” Zeke liked that game, liked to take advantage of those times when her talkative, English-major side was derailed by lust so she could answer only words of one syllable. She hadn’t quite reached that point yet, but the reminder of what she’d been missing was pushing her in that direction. Luckily, she needed only words of one syllable.
“Tie me up and spank me. It’s been too long.”
He pulled her even closer. “Do you want to go inside? That’s where the toys are, and the rope.”
As the rain washed away the dry, sad weeks, Ellie whispered, “No. Out here.”
