Storms Rock Prologue and Chapter One
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The Storm's Arrival free porn video
It was a quiet time at the beach. The period after spring break and the summer crowds. The families were gone and the kids back to school. The white sandy beach was wind swept clean of foot prints along the emerald clear waters of the Gulf. The normally white puffy clouds were racing across the blue sky as a humid breeze churned up the waves.
In waning dusk, Alison stood staring at the horizon with the grey trees ascending towards aphotic clouds from the looming storm. The humid southerly wind caused her to shiver despite the warm temperatures.
George Ikechi was a new resident in the seasonal beach community, but secretly held a very different belief than the general population. It seemed as if a supreme force protected George. His travels had guided him here.
Isolated in the predominantly rental beach community, beneath a foreboding, dark, starless sky, Alison’s house sat. The wind whisked away falling pine needles and howled of an approaching storm. George resolutely stood among the creaking trees with their branches twisted like elongated arthritic fingers.
Inside the house, Alison faced the fireplace. She didn’t need the heat but the light due to the sporadic electricity. She sat languorously balled up at the end of the sofa as rain began pelting the windows. Her husband was gone. As many times over the years, she was without him and alone. She decided to find some solace reading on her iPad.
The lights flickered one last time and went dark as the storm brought down the power and phone lines. In this remote area, cell phone coverage was poor at best. Now there was no communications at all. She had supplies and decided to wait until the storm passed. She longed for her husband to snuggle with and keep her safe as she watched the flames dance in radiant yellow and orange brilliance that spilled tall, wavering shadows into the lonely room.
A frantic pounding on the door startled Alison and interrupted her musings. The nearest neighbors were miles away, she put down her iPad to cautiously investigate. “Who is it?” Alison shouted from behind the door. The incessant pummeling on the door stopped.
“It’s George Ikechi, your neighbor from up the road. I’m stuck out here and need help, please,” a voice that sounded vaguely familiar replied. Alison did not recognize the name. A clatter from the lock turning brought a momentary smile to George, but he quickly replaced it with a brooding frown when the door opened.
Alison opened the door to an onslaught of wind and rain and a flood of humid night air that instantly displaced the comfort inside the house and caused the flames in the fireplace to shudder. In the gloom, she vaguely recognized the gigantic, imposing figure standing at her doorway, “Come in.” She moved aside, guardedly allowing the dark figure to pass and hurriedly shutting the door behind him. “The power’s out,” she explained, leading him with the poise of a dancer from the shadowy hallway toward the bright fireplace.
In light cast by the fire, Alison recognized the figure covered in rain that formed puddles beneath his boots. He was the Ethiopian immigrant, a Christian refugee that she met in Church the other day. He removed his hands from the pockets of his dark blue rain jacket and appreciatively dried them above the genial flames.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing out on a night like this?” Alison asked. In yoga pants that tightly followed the developed curves of Alison’s young, athletic body, it took every ounce of George’s willpower to stop his eyes from devouring her.
“I saw the storm coming and thought I better get more gasoline for my generator and some bottled water. Before I got to town, the road had already washed out. I tried to get back home but my truck slid off the road and got stuck,” George explained.
Alison thought about the inappropriateness of a strange black man staying the night while her husband was away. But in good conscience, she could not refuse George lodging if the storm continued raging, and answered sympathetically, “Well you can’t go out with it storming like this. Let me take your jacket to dry.” She went to help him remove the backpack he was wearing so he could take off the jacket, but he stopped her.
“I’ve got it,” George said. “It’s pretty heavy.” He placed the backpack on the hardwood floor leaning it against the end of the sofa.
Alison hung his rain jacket over the back of a chair and left his boots by the fire to dry. With his jacket off, Alison noticed large muscles bulging beneath George’s soaked shirt. She wondered what type of strenuous physical labor he performed in Africa to make them so big. George was somewhat handsome, but she was married woman and not interested other men — especially black men. His strong facial structure looked like it had been sculpted in marble with smooth dark brown skin; short kinky black hair on top of his head; wet, black eyes like obsidian.
Alison took a sip of tea she had prepared earlier, now lukewarm, and saw George watching her. “I’m sorry I can’t make you some with the power out. Let me get you a towel. Would you like something to drink? Water perhaps?” she asked jokingly.
George smirked. “Actually, I am a little thirsty.”
Alison minced her way nursing the fragile flame from a candle. When she left the room, George leaned over to where his backpack sat next to the couch, silently retracted its zipper enough to slide his hand inside.
Sheets of rain fell outside and the humid wind strained through crevices in the old, drafty structure as Alison groped in the dimly lit closet for a towel. It looked increasingly likely that this black man, a practical stranger, would have to stay the night. This prospect did not sit well with her. She wished she had time to put a bra on as she quickly threw on a shirt over her workout top.
George was zippering his backpack closed as Alison returned with a glass of water.
“My cell phone doesn’t work, but as soon as it lets up, we’ll go outside and try to call someone to come help you.” It was a tactful hint that she did not want him here any longer than necessary, and George got it.
“I don’t think anyone will come out in this weather anyway. I’m really sorry for this inconvenience. I didn’t know what else to do. Your house is the only place occupied for miles.”
Alison returned to the other end of the sofa and sipped from the half-full cup. It was now cold. The tea had a slightly different, vaguely sweet inviting flavor, she thought, smacking her lips together and finishing the remaining. “Have you lived in the States long?” Alison asked, finding herself in a more talkative mood.
“About four months.” He replied.
“Where are you from?” She asked in quick order.
George paused a moment not wanting to reveal too much about himself and thinking about his answer. The less she knew about him the better. He lied and told her he was from Harar.
He decided to encourage the uncharacteristic garrulousness in her that the pheromone induced. “How about you?” he asked back.
Unusual exhilaration and a girlish silliness she had buried years ago bubbled to her surface in an odd euphoria that he was interested in her. She opened so much to him, happily providing her entire life history. The moments passed, the more she talked and the more her tales became more uniquely personal, almost intimate.
Alison chattered, gazing at her pale reflection in the dark window. The glass pane clouded with moisture. It was stiflingly hot. Without her noticing George inched closer. He comfortably reclined and put his arm around her shoulders, his touch strangely redolent of a first loves.
George noted that Alison started to slur her words. Her movements were no longer deliberate. He smiled into her face as he brushed her blond hair aside. His fingers ventured south and casually unbuttoned the top of her shirt.
Alison looked down her body, she could feel his hand, but not see it beneath her breasts. George's hand was on her flat belly. His hand felt big and strong, his black skin touching her white stomach. She wondered what the contrast might look like, but she couldn't see thru her bosom. His hand shifted a bit, his fingers were spread apart, his thumb was under the tight workout top. His finger nails just touching the bottoms of her breasts.
As she looked down, Alison was confused to see her nipples starting to harden. The buttoned shirt was open by now and wasn't on her shoulders, but it was still loose around her waist. Her nipples were long and pointy. She watched them harden, the entire areola puffing out.
Alison was confused not knowing what was making them so erect now. Her nipples were hardening. She'd thought she had put on a shirt to keep them hidden, but they were so hard, her nipples and areola were visible through the work out top. They were always sensitive and hardened easily, a cool breeze, friction from her clothes, and especially at the first hint of arousal.
Then George adjusted an extremely large bulge in his pants. Alison saw the curved outline of his immense manhood strain against the fabric, reach above his left hip, and practically pop out the waistband of his trousers. George had his hands on the waistband of his pants. He'd pushed them down just a little to tease her.
Alison gasped as the long tubular piece of black flesh slowly grew before her eyes. She could see inches of it straining against the fabric, yet the shaft was growing and straining to rise. Many inches further down, a big knobby cock head was pushing up, struggling to get free.
She realized something was changing within her. It was as if her inviting white skin had discovered its birth right. She couldn’t compose herself; she wouldn’t remain seated. She could not think straight anymore. She tried standing and almost fell before George jumped up and caught her.
“Whoa, you’re in no condition to walk,” George said, holding Alison against him. She was everything he sought in a woman — a beautiful face, a perfect little body and white. Something about blonde white women in particular made George extra horny.
Tight in George’s arms, she tried to recoil from the hardness of his penis that she felt through his pants pushing into her tummy. “Get hands off. Let… go,” she babbled trying to take back control of the situation.
“Are you okay? What’s the matter?” An out-of-place smile appeared on George’s face. “You’re not feeling well.” He wrapped his big muscular arm around her back and pulled her tight against his strong body. Alison jumped at first, startled, but realized he was just trying to help her, or so she thought as she stared at him with a vacant look.
“You may have the flu or something.” George sat the lethargic Alison back on the sofa and with the candle she had used earlier, searched her house, finding her cellphone, its charger and a set of keys on the kitchen table. In another room, he found her computer and removed its power cord. He found the circuit breaker panel and flipped some to ensure the power would not return. Then returned to the living room with Alison’s phone and keys in his pockets, the phone charger and computer power cord in his hand. Alison was gone and the front door left open as an invitation for the raging storm beyond.
George grabbed a flashlight from his backpack. The darkness seemed to swallow him as he faced the crashing torrents, the roar of the elements, left the house and went into the night to find her. He discovered Alison slumped over the hood of her locked car. Her keys, along with her cellphone, were safely in his pockets. Rain covered Alison. Wearing only her yoga outfit, she was drenched.
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