Hurricane Season (4 page)

They gawked for a few more minutes. I felt Martín's cum dripping out of my asshole, and I was embarrassed. Just for show, Carla smacked my ass one more time, and Heather kissed me hard, shoving her tongue in my mouth. I looked back and saw two of the Coast Guard men rubbing their cocks through their pants. That made me laugh.

We showered, got dressed, grabbed our things, and headed for the boat.

Six weeks later, my "fabulous vacation" is where I go in my head when I masturbate. I have discovered that I can come twice if I really concentrate on the details.

I was checking my email, thinking that I would have a marathon masturbation session tonight after dinner. I scanned through the usual junk until I got to one that said
Hurricane Season
. I was intrigued, due to my recent brush with Hurricane Tomas, so I clicked.

It was an ad for a pornographic video. The cover said, "
Hurricane Season:  Dumb Bitch Gets Fucked, Sucked, and Sodomized on Hidden Camera
." Then I saw my own face on the cover, smiling as cum dripped from my hair. I was mortified, but that didn't stop me from ordering the video with overnight shipping.

I am so fucking gullible.

THE END

If you enjoyed the story, please leave me a review on
Amazon
. Thank you!

My fellow authors from the
Hot Summer Reads Anthology
have been absolutely essential to the change in mindset responsible for releasing my work on Amazon.

Since I started writing in 2011, my philosophy of sharing my work has been "why sell the cow, when I can give away the milk for free?" This is the very first piece I have published to Amazon, and I'm holding my breath to see if it brings me the satisfaction I got from the comments on Literotica.

Sincere thanks to the people that have helped me take this leap of faith from the safety of giving away my work to charging for it.

Author
M.S. Tarot
was the first person I allowed to read a story before it went live. That first story required a multitude of changes, just to the story line. I listened and learned, and the stories since then haven't needed so much revision. He has refined my storytelling technique, and for that, I'm forever grateful. He's a close friend, and he writes a hell of a story. Please check out his work.

Author
TT Tales
was the first author that made an impression on me at Literotica, long before I ever started to write. His dirty, tricky tales, particularly The Perfect Game were the ones I read over and over. When I wrote my first piece of fiction, Hurricane Season, I wondered what Tx Tall Tales would think of it. Imagine my surprise when I got a message from him in the summer of 2013.

Since then, he has encouraged me, torn my work apart, and helped me in countless other ways. I am a much better technical writer because of his assistance. We are taking this leap together. Buy his books. You won't regret it.

Author
Freya Lange
is responsible for the anthology our group of writers has assembled. She has done countless hours of work to get our book together. She's an excellent writer, and her books are extremely satisfying. Buy them.

Author D.E. Vice, also known as
AMoveableBeast
, writes stories that make my feet float off the ground. Knowing him is a privilege. His assistance improves my writing even when he isn't looking. His stories will amaze you. His poetry too.

Author
SecondCircle
taught me to show, not tell. His advice has prompted major rewrites of more than one story, and I think readers thank him for it. He humbly proclaims that his opinions are just the "thoughts of one reader." His thoughts are powerful, and they've had a profound impact on my writing. Please check out his Elysium series. They are excellent stories in a setting that will tickle your fancy.

Author
BuckyDuckman
has done wonders for my confidence and reminded me that two sentences do not a paragraph make. His stories are dirty and fun, and his personality oozes from every line. Read them. You'll love them.

Other authors you should check out:

Ella Wilding

J. Kendall Dane

JC Winchester

shea mara

Blind Justice

Rozalin

Steve Williams

Connect with Patient Lee

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The smell of smoke was the first thing I noticed when my book fell out of my hands, jolting me from my snooze. The noontime warmth had given me that "cat in a sunbeam" feeling, and I'd fallen asleep before I reached the end of the first page. I stretched and yawned, relishing the first moments of relaxation I'd enjoyed since I came home from an afternoon barn fire eighteen months ago to find my dickhead husband making home movies in my bedroom with a couple of sluts. In mid-stretch I took a deep breath, and when the smoke hit the back of my throat, I realized that I wasn't smelling a campfire.

Some kids raced by on bikes, fast enough to create a cloud of dust from the dirt road. I made out only one word of their chatter: fire. That got me moving. I jumped out of my chair and looked down the dirt road. There it was, rising over the dust. Thick, black smoke, billowing from the window of the fifth-wheel RV four sites down from mine.

I ran for the fire extinguisher in my pop-up camper and yelled to anyone that was in earshot to call nine-one-one. In my ten years on the Melrose Volunteer Fire Department, I'd been on plenty of fire scenes, but this was my first one in dollar-store flip-flops. I tripped on a pothole, cursed the giant trucks I'd seen tearing up and down the dirt roads, and got to the door as the campground owner arrived in his golf cart.

The dog's barks overpowered the shrill beep of the camper's smoke alarm. I'm not a dog person, but I knew that the owner of the camper would care more about the dog than the RV itself. I was barely aware of the crowd that was gathering too close to the burning structure. I reached for the handle just as the campground owner reached the door with a crowbar. He shoved it into the frame and started to pry. The dog's bark was weakening as he dicked around with the metal tool. I gave him a five-count in my head before shoving him out of the way with my hip. I pulled the unlocked handle, the door popped open, and I found myself face to face with a fucking German shepherd. "Please be friendly. Please be friendly. Please be friendly," I said, afraid I'd pee my pants. I shoved my fear of dogs, especially large, vicious ones, aside, and the dog leapt at me, knocking me backwards onto my ass. He stood over me, licking my face, expressing his wet, sloppy gratitude for saving him.

The crowd that had assembled screamed when the outside air hit the fire, sending flames shooting into the trees high over the RV. I pushed the dog off me and looked around to see if anyone knew if there were people inside. The owner of the campground helped me off the ground, and I asked him if he knew if anybody was home. He assured me that the owner's truck wasn't there, so the RV was empty.

By the time I was back on my feet, the fire had spread through the entire camper, and my fire extinguisher looked ridiculously inadequate next to the inferno. I heard the sirens approaching, and with no other equipment at my disposal, I turned my attention to crowd control.

"Back up, folks. It isn't safe for you to stand here, people!" No one moved. "Kids! Go back to your campers!" Nothing. Nobody even took a step. Finally, the campground owner, Jack Trombley, stepped up and started pushing people back.

Sure. You'll listen to a fucking man.
My sunglasses hid my eye roll.

"C'mon! Move back. The propane tanks are gonna blow!" Trombley shouted. It wasn't true, of course. The tanks have a valve that releases the pressure if it gets too hot, but I wasn't about to contradict a statement that might get these idiots moving to safety. The dog joined in the cause, barking and moving toward the crowd, running up and down in front of the line of people. Even the stubborn ones listened to the German shepherd, and as the fire engines screamed into the campground, they finally moved the hell out of the way.

I stood with the dog, patting him on the head and calling him a good dog over and over when a pimple-faced teenager in ill-fitting department-issued turnout gear yelled at me to get back. I smiled and shook my head at his youthful enthusiasm, reminding myself that it didn't matter that I'd been a volunteer fire fighter since this kid believed in Santa Claus. He was in charge of the crowd now; I was just on vacation. I walked back to my site, leaving Jack to deal with the unleashed shepherd.

Half an hour later, I was back in my folding chair with a beer in one hand and my book in the other. By then it was clear that the camper was a total loss. The flames had reduced it to the metal frame and not much else. I felt bad for the guy who lived there. I'd heard from some of the other campers walking by my site that he was a welder on the pipeline, and that he'd just moved in with that RV three weeks ago. Once the fire was out and the firetrucks had left, I gave my book another glimpse. I was asleep within minutes.

I had no idea how long I was out before I was rudely awakened by a hard thump to my crotch. My eyes snapped open as my body curled in to protect itself from the gigantic German shepherd head in my lap. It scared the crap out of me, but his tail wagged back and forth, and I figured he knew that I was the one that rescued him from the fire. I looked around for the owner, but no one was there. I reached out to pat the dog on the head and wondered why no one had taken care of him in the wake of the fire.

"Good doggie," I said, cautiously patting the monster on the head. His tongue was hanging out, touching my bare knee, so I figured he was thirsty. "C'mon, boy." I stood, watching to make sure his tail was still wagging. He bounded along beside me, getting tangled in my feet, almost tripping me twice. I left him on the little mat at the foot of the step while I filled a water bowl from my sink.

As I plunked into my chair, the campground owner arrived with Jupiter's leash. He handed it to me and turned his attention on the dog. "There you are, Jupiter! Oh, yes. Jupey had a bad morning, didn't he?" He rubbed his hands roughly over the dog, making the tail wag right in my face. After the third mouthful of tail fur, I stood.

"Does the owner know yet?" I asked.

"We called the job site, but we had to leave a message. Those guys work until dark every night."

"Which guys? What do they do?"

"Welders on the pipeline. It's their fuckin' trucks that are tearin' up my roads. Three of 'em, right in a row." He gestured toward the burnt-up camper.

"So where is this one going to stay?" I imagined for a moment a hot bod—shirtless with chiseled abs and wearing a welding mask.

"Probably with one of the guys." His face scrunched up for a second. "Although, that might be a little awkward—" His cell phone rang, and he walked away in mid-sentence.

I yelled after him, "I'm not really a dog person," but he didn't answer. I was stuck with the monster, at least for the afternoon. "I guess we're gonna hang out awhile, Jupiter. Don't bite me, okay?" His tail kept wagging while I clipped the leash to his collar. I looked at his tags. "Good. Your rabies shot is up to date. That's good to know, isn't it?" Great. I was talking to the dog as if he were a person. "And here's your owner: Nicky McDonald." I petted him for a minute, trying to imagine what Nicky looked like. Rough, tough, probably muscular. I smiled to myself and walked Jupiter back to my chair. He lay down in the shade under the chair, and I returned to my sexy welder daydream.

* * * *

While I lit my campfire, I rehearsed what I'd say to Nicky the Welder.
Hi! I'm Krista. I saved your dog!
Ugh. That's the kind of thing Pimple Face would have said to get a date. I told myself to tone it down.

I'm so sorry about your camper. Here, I cooked you a steak!
The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right? Maybe the steak will go over so well, he'd sweep me into his arms and carry me to the bunk in my pop-up. When he bent to kiss me, he'd ask me who saved his dog. Just before our lips met, I'd bat my eyelashes and murmur, "I did." And we'd live happily ever after.

I'd have to do better than that.

Jupiter's happy bark shattered my reverie, and a candy-apple red welding truck pulled up in front of my site. The tinted windows hid the driver from view, and my heart pounded in my chest, anticipating the big reveal. The door finally opened, and work boots hit the ground. Jupiter knocked over the folding chair that held his leash, and he ran to his master. I smiled, hoping I looked friendly and welcoming, not like a stalker.

The next thing I knew, Jupiter was bounding toward me, stopping to look back to make sure the welder was following. He stepped out of the truck and closed the door. My smile wilted.

Nicky the Welder was a woman.

* * * *

"Fighting Fire with Fire"
is included in the collection
Hot Summer Reads: An Anthology of Erotic Stories.
Available on May 23, 2015 from
Amazon
.