Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Reluctant, BiSexual, TransGender, Fiction, Science Fiction, BDSM, FemaleDom, Spanking, Sadistic, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Lost on a deserted backwoods road in Arkansas during a driving rainstorm, a man and woman drive on, desperately searching for some sign of human habitation where they might get directions. Little do they know that their 'directions' will take them on a long voyage of self-discovery, from which they might not return, and from which they will never be the same.
"For crying out loud, will you give it a break?" I yelled at the woman sitting next to me in the car. "I'm not happy about it either."
"If you hadn't turned onto this damn road, we'd be back at the motel by now, instead of driving around in the damn woods", she yelled back with as much ferocity.
I said quietly through clenched teeth, "Do I have to remind you that we BOTH agreed to try this road after looking at the map?" That shut her up, finally. God, how I had begun to despise this bitch.
My name is Pete Hotaling. Peter Alan Hotaling, if you want the whole thing, and I'm an Associate Publisher for McCarthy Publishing Inc. The fancy title means that I negotiate to buy the rights to publish books and stories. It sounds better than 'Publisher's Agent' does. The woman beside me in the car is Kara Swenson. She holds the title of Senior Editor with McCarthy.
Why are driving around rural Arkansas, at night, in a torrential rainstorm, with lightning and thunder crashing all around us, you ask? Put simply, we're looking for the home of a reclusive writer who has written a great new story, but has so far delayed signing a contract with our company. Our boss has sent us on this mission to wrap up the deal. I've done this alone for years, and was upset that I had been ordered to drag along this miserable excuse for a woman. My boss had said that she would be helpful in consummating the deal, since the writer was known to have an eye for the ladies. I thought to myself that he would have to be one sorry and desperate son-of-a-bitch to be attracted to Swenson.
As I drove along in the worsening weather, I glanced over at Swenson. She could be attractive if she tried. She could get rid of those ugly eyeglasses and get contacts, or at least get a better eyeglass frame. And those shoulder-pads had to go. They were out of fashion now anyway. The ones that she was wearing rivaled those of the kicker on my college football team. I estimated that she was about 5 foot, 4 inches tall, about 23 or 24 years old, and her long blond hair was tied into a bun. A bun, for Christ's sake. And this was definitely the first time that I had ever seen her wearing a skirt. I hadn't thought that she owned one, because around the company's offices, I had only seen her wearing slacks or jeans. I had to admit that her legs weren't too bad. Neither was the body. Too bad her personality sucked.
She hadn't stopped complaining and whining since we had left New York City. She complained all the way down on the aircraft about the crummy cab driver, slow ticket agents, poor seats, lousy food, dumb flight attendants, etc, etc. etc. When we picked up the car that the company had rented for us, she started in again about choice of car, small trunk, uncomfortable seat belts, etc, etc, etc. Before beginning our hunt for Buck Marshall's log cabin, we had stopped at the motel to put our bags in our rooms. Once back in the car, she started complaining about her motel room. She said the bed was uncomfortable and she would never be able to sleep. She complained that there was no tub in her room, only a shower stall. Etc, etc, etc. I was nearing the end of my patience, so when she started in about the road that we had mutually agreed to try, I put up with it for as long as I could, then yelled at the top of my lungs. My eruption lasted for just one sentence, but I felt better immediately. I had wanted to do that for the last hour, but instead of being intimidated, she had yelled right back at me. My quiet statement about our predicament being half her fault had finally shut her up.
And it really was a predicament. We had been driving on this road for over forty-five minutes. I estimated that we must have driven at least ten miles. We had not seen another vehicle, human, or even a dwelling since we turned onto this road. I didn't think that it was possible to drive this long without seeing something. About a hundred feet in from the highway, the paved road had turned to gravel. Then after a mile, the gravel road had turned to dirt. We decided to turn around at the next crossroad or driveway, but had not encountered either. The rain was coming down in buckets, so I didn't want to risk trying to turn around without sufficient room. I feared that we might get stuck. And forget backing up all the way to the highway, it was way too far, and in the darkness, it would be impossible, so we had just kept driving. The woods on either side of the narrow road had long ago closed in, the potholes were getting worse, and I was getting nervous. The road had stated to resemble a footpath more than a road, but I didn't want to convey my fears to Swenson.
Kara Swenson had leaned back into her chair after Peter Hotaling had yelled at her. She had tried to engage him in conversation ever since they had left New York City. He had said almost nothing until his sudden outburst a few minutes ago. It had completely taken her aback, and in response she had yelled back at him. She knew that their predicament wasn't his fault. She was just unhappy about going on this trip. She didn't understand why her boss had insisted on it. Was he trying to fix her up with Hotaling? It was true that Hotaling was tall, dark, and handsome. He stood about 6 foot, 6 inches tall, and had black, wavy hair. He looked to be about 35 years old and obviously spent a lot of time working on his body and his tan. But he had bedded almost every unmarried woman at McCarthy Publishing, and possibly a few married ones, and she was not about to be added to that long list. Besides, she preferred female companionship, although she had never announced it to anyone at work.
"This isn't looking too good", I said to Swenson. Suddenly a flash of lightning and crack of thunder occurred almost simultaneously. The lightning hit a tree alongside the road and it began falling into the path of the car. I hit the brakes and swerved the car to the right, away from the falling tree, and the car ended up in a ditch as the tree fell across the hood and shattered the windshield. Our seatbelts saved us from injury, but the car was immobile with the tree resting on it, even though it didn't appear too badly damaged to use. I asked Swenson if she was OK. She said that she hadn't been injured, although she was still a bit shaken up from the near miss of the tree. The windshield had collapsed onto the dashboard, and the rain was blowing into the car now and we were getting soaked.
We had two options. Stay where we were, or try to get help. After a quick discussion, we opted for the latter. It might be days, or even weeks before anyone came down this isolated road. Looking for my cellular phone, I remembered that I had left it in my suitcase, so it was now dry and safe in my motel room. How I wish that I was there also. Swenson said that she had seen something that looked like a house not too long ago. She had only caught a glimpse during a lightning flash, but we decided to see if we could find it. Even if it was deserted, it might offer us some shelter from the storm. I found a flashlight in the emergency kit in the trunk and we set off down the road.
When we reached the point where she thought that she had seen the house, we left the road and walked through the bushes and undergrowth. The terrain climbed gently upwards and I began to feel sorry for Swenson. She was wearing a skirt and heels, and it could not be pleasant for her. Every once in a while, she would let out a small string of curse words. Although I was a little better dressed for this kind of traveling, I was none-the-less cold, wet, and miserable. After about twenty minutes of climbing, we found the 'house', but it turned out to be just a small, rectangular rocky outcropping in the hill. Our hopes of shelter disappeared in a heartbeat. As we were about to turn and return to the road, my flashlight played across an opening in the outcropping. I investigated the opening to see if it might be a cave, and to my delight, the opening was too deep for my flashlight to reach a back wall. We walked slowly inside, with me in the lead. My flashlight showed a cavern disappearing down into the blackness. As soon as we were inside, we felt better. Just being out of the driving rain was an improvement. I explored a little further in to see if there was any dried wood or tinder that we could use to light a fire. Swenson had grabbed ahold of my suit-jacket with both hands and followed me. She was holding my coat on each side, near my waist, so she wasn't more than a foot behind me as I walked.
After walking about a hundred feet, I came to the conclusion that we were not going to find anything burnable, so I decided to return to the cave entrance. As I turned, a flash of lightning illuminated the mouth of the cave and movement at the entrance froze me in my tracks. During the flash, I had seen a large black bear entering the cave. I turned again and resumed my walk away from the cave entrance. I didn't say anything to Swenson because I didn't want her to cry out. I walked as quickly as I could without appearing to be rushing. I heard noises behind me but couldn't ascertain if they came from Swenson or the bear. I was afraid to stop, so I kept leading us further in. Several times I had come to places where the cave split, and I had selected whichever path seemed to offer the easiest walk. After we had traveled for about 15 minutes, I stopped. Swenson walked into my back since I hadn't signaled any intention to halting. I pried her hands off of my coat and found that she was trembling. I knew immediately that she had seen the bear also. As I turned to face her, she wrapped her arms around me and held on for all she was worth. My intense dislike for her began to lessen as I was exposed to this view of vulnerability. I didn't hear any noise from the way that we had come, so I guessed that it was all right to stand here until she got her nerves under control. I tried to soothe her by putting up a brave front. The truth was that I was plenty scared also.
After several minutes, Swenson stopped trembling a little, and we resumed our walk. At this point I was hoping that we could find another way out. We spent the next two hours picking our way through the cavern. We had been walking down a promising looking passage when we suddenly came to a solid wall. I was about to retrace our steps when I spotted writing on the wall. As it turned out, it wasn't writing, but rather symbols that had been cut into the stone.
I couldn't relate them to anything that I had ever seen, and I traced them with my finger hoping to get a clue to their origin. They may indicate a way out of the cavern. Without warning, we were bathed in a bluish-white light that shone down from the cavern roof. We were completely immobilized and the only thing that I could move was my eyeballs. I could see that Swenson was similarly frozen. As we stood there, the wall in front of us abruptly rose upwards and revealed a lined tunnel entrance. An old man, wearing a robe, walked towards us slowly. As he stood in front of us, he examined us closely. He never uttered a word, but memories of my life started flashing through my mind. I saw myself, from the present, back to my days as a toddler. As I reached my earliest recollections, the blue light stopped and the cavern went black, and I realized that I was sinking into the black void of unconsciousness.