Sillas Storm

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Answer the door, Elaine." She does not know if her words are spoken or merely thought.

BANG! BANG! BANG! This time, despite the roaring inside her head, she is more insistent. "Elaine, answer the door."

The third time she hears the banging, she rolls over, tries to open her eyes, but finds she cannot focus, so she squeezes her eyes shut and groans. The roar in her ears and her headache is so bad she cannot bear to open her eyes as she stands to feel her way across to the bedroom door. After four small steps her forehead slams into something solid.

"OW." Startled, she opens her eyes and sees she has walked into a wall. She looks around in a panic, this is not her bedroom. AND, SHE IS NAKED. HER FACE HURTS. HER THROAT IS RAW. HER SCALP BURNS. ABRASIONS SURROUND HER WRISTS. THE FLESH AROUND HER ANKLES IS RAW. That is when she screams. Her scream is long, loud, and horrifying.

Running across the room, through a door and across another room, she bursts out a door to find herself stumbling out into a hall, her voice still screaming louder than she could have ever imagined.

She runs toward a light at the end of the hall, as a large man seems to rise out of nowhere, stopping her in her headlong run. First, it is just his head, then his shoulders and finally his whole body appears, as he steps up into the hallway.

"WHAT THE HELL," his exclamation is frightening as he looks at her and advances, taking long strides down the hall.

Backing up a few steps, she turns and flees from the man, not caring where she is going, just getting away for him. Despite her trembling legs, the roar in her head, and blurred vision, she bounces off the opposite wall and takes a few more steps.

"HEY!" He yells. Catching up with her in a few strides, he puts his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side, lifting her off her feet.

"STOP" he yells. "STOP FIGHTING ME. I WON'T HURT YOU."

Relieved of supporting her own weight she kicks and twists. "LET ME GO. LET ME GO," she screams.

His arms tighten, "I'll let you go as soon as you stop fighting," he growls in her ear. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know. Let me go." She slams her head back, still struggling to get away.

"Oof, dammit, stop it," he complains about being butted on the chin with the back of her head. He tries to turn her around, without letting go of her arms, while struggling to keep his knee between her thrashing legs.

Knowing she hit the man hard enough to hurt him, she resists being turned. She slams her head back one more time and then goes limp.

Unable to turn her and fearing he will drop her, the man goes down to the floor, taking the young girl with him. They land on their sides. Quickly, he rolls over on top of her. Grabbing her wrists as she fights him,, he raises them above her head and lets his body weight hold her down so she can't move.

"OW, LET ME GO." She screams when his hands twist her wrists. Panting from the exertion, both of them look at each other.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he tells her, panting, and trying to speak softly. He tries to smile, but only manages a softening of the expression on his face.

"Let me go," she pleads. "You're hurting me."

Loosening his grip, he says, "I'm going to, but don't you move. You understand?" She nods and feels his weight easing off of her. He takes her arms, one at a time and lowers them to her sides, puts his hands under her arms and sits her up, as he rests back on his knees. He looks at her pert breasts, seeing someone has treated them pretty roughly. There are teeth marks around her nipples.

He slowly lifts his hand and brushes her hair out of her face. She jerks her head when he touches the dark blue mark on one cheek. He picks up one of her hands and turns it, looking at the raw skin encircling her wrist. It looks like someone tied her up. He has seen these marks before, but on older women who enjoy heavy bondage or rough sexual experiences. He sees the same marks on her ankles and is disgusted by the thought that this young woman would need to be tied up to get a sexual thrill.

"So, you like it rough, huh?" He asks the naked young girl. He sees the blank look on her face. She either does not want to answer or considers his question none of his business.

The roaring inside her head and her inability to focus her eyes causes her to stare at him, unable to hear a word he says.

"Why didn't you leave?" He asks as he stands and holds out his hand to her.

She takes the offered hand and pulls herself up. Her legs are trembling. "Leave?" she asks, knowing her voice is trembling, too.

"Yeah. Evacuate. The notice went out before daylight. Why didn't you leave? Where's you clothes?"

"Where ... where ... am I?" Her words are hesitant as she stumbles through her question, still looking around, unable to orient herself.

He holds his arm out to indicate the long hallway in front of them, "Where do you live?"

She wraps her arms around herself, realizing she is naked and answers, "Bayside."

"No," he corrects her. "I mean which door?"

"I ... I don't ... I don't live here." She looks up at him shaking her head.

Realizing this young woman is very confused, he asks, "What happened to you?"

She shakes her head again, trying to get rid of the roaring in her head. "I don't know. I woke up." She looks up and down the hall. All of the doors are the same. "I thought someone was knocking. My sister ... she didn't answer."

He walks to the nearest door and tries the doorknob, but it's locked. He continues down the hall, alternating sides, trying door after door. At the end of the hall he beckons to her, to come with him, but she shakes her head.

He raises his voice, "Come on, we need to find you something to wear. There's no one here to see you."

With hesitating steps, she begins walking toward the man, who waits patiently. As she nears him, he takes the first steps up the partially enclosed stairwell. Only when she takes her first step upward does she realize where the roaring sound inside her head is coming from. A strong gust of wind hits her. She drops to one knee and then stands upright, watching a small trickle of blood running down her leg from the rough texture of the steps. If she hadn't been holding the handrail, her fall would have been worse. Heavy rain falling off the roof of the covered stairs tells her she is in the middle of a storm.

She follows the man up the exposed stairs and enters a hall, a duplicate of the hallway she just left. At the first door on the left, the man stops and uses a key to open the door. He walks inside and holds the door open for her.

"Well, you certainly look better than you did an hour ago. By the way, I'm Jack Brenner."

"I'm ah ... Silla, ah, Priscilla Benton. Yeah, I'm Priscilla Benton," she answers, pulling the borrowed t-shirt down over the multiple rolls of Jack's pajama bottoms at her waist. She sits on the bar stool beside Jack.

Jack chuckles and pushes a cup of coffee toward Silla. "Are you sure about that?"

"Huh?" Silla looks up from taking a sip of the scalding coffee. Her throat is so raw, she is almost afraid to swallow.

"I was teasing you Silla" Jack admits, grinning. However, his face turns serious, when he asks, "Do you want to tell me about those?" He nods at the raw marks around her wrists. They no longer look as angry as they did when he first saw them. Maybe the shower and the first aid cream helped.

Silla looks at the marks on her wrists, and then lifts one leg to look at her ankle, shaking her head. Tears form in her eyes, "I don't know, Jack. Honest, I don't know."

"How did you get here?"

"I ... don't know," she wails, drops her hands to her lap, one hand going between her legs. "Someone ...," her voice drops to a whisper, "Someone shaved me."

By carefully questioning Silla, Jack learns she has lost a whole day. She and several other young friends in their early twenties came to the island for an early summer party, aware that a tropical storm was several days away, but not expected to actually strike the island. Her last memory of a weather bulletin was a prediction that the storm would strike the coast, more than two hundred miles farther south. The stormy weather was expected to cause higher than normal surf, which a few of the party goers were looking forward to surfing.

One of her friends obtained permission from her parents, for Silla and several other girlfriends to spend the night in their condominium, a few miles away. After a party on the beach, the girls expected to have an old fashioned slumber party. They planned to paint each other's toenails, talk about their boyfriends, and watch several "skin flicks" the hostess said her parents kept hidden in the hall closet.

Jack watches the young woman, knowing at forty-three, he is nearly old enough to be her father. She is a pretty little thing, swallowed up by his t-shirt and the pants to a pair of soft cotton pajamas his sister gave him. The pants legs must be rolled up at least a foot to get them short enough for her to walk in, despite the top being rolled down and bunched around her waist. He already knows her breasts are generous, with light brown areolas and large prominent nipples he can see are pushing against the front of the t-shirt. Her face is square, framed by light brown hair, still wet from her shower, curls under her jaw and barely covers her neck in back. Dark brows arch above her dark brown eyes, one of which shows a bruise on her upper lid, the tender skin below, and to the outside of her eye.

Her mouth is wide with a generous lower lip. He can imagine the shape of her mouth encourages young men to sample her softness.

"I'm sorry I can't take you to a hospital for a rape test. The beach road is already washed out and the main road is flooded."

"A rape test," Silla says with a shudder. "You think ...." The fear showing on her face shows Jack she has not considered the full consequences of what may have happened to her.

Jack nods and tells her, "Yes, and the possibility of STDs."

"S. T. D.?" Silla asks, as if she does not understand what he means.

"Yes," he answers, "A Sexually Transmitted Disease. It's not only a possibility, it's a probability."

"Oh god," Silla groans burying her face in her hands.

Standing at the door, those memories of the confusing time she was here, rush through her head. Silla takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. She hears the lock being turned and tries to paste a smile on her face.

"Hello, Jack," Silla says quietly.

"Silla?" He asks, afraid to admit he barely recognizes her. "Oh my god, Silla," he says putting his hands on her upper arms, pulling her into his apartment, slamming the door behind them as he wraps his arms around her. "Oh, Silla," he says, pushing her away from him, "Let me look at you."

Silla lowers her arms from the mutual hug and wipes the tears from her eyes. She was not sure how she would be received. The five days she spent with Jack were very difficult for her, and for him. For one full day and part of a night, a tropical storm battered the condominium. The roads washed away, sand dunes were flattened, and their isolation brought them together in a mutual need to hear another human voice.

When the electricity failed, they spent their days in heavy humidity, heat, and isolation, by learning about each other. Jack, injured in his first year as a professional football player, has finally left the corporate world, stashed his savings with a trusted investment counselor, and "retired" to pursue his real ambition. He has one book at the printers, and is nervously working on a sequel.

Silla, after college, is tackling her first real job and insecure about her future. After the loss of electricity, every meal was a challenge. The second day they discovered there was no water pressure. Clothing for Silla was laughable. Anything that fit Jack's 6'5," 280 pound frame, swallowed Silla's 5'4" 120 pound size.

"Oh baby," he says. "Please don't," he puts his hands on her face, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

Not wanting him to watch her cry, Silla puts her arms around his neck and pushes her face against his shirt. All Jack knows to do is put his arms back around her and hold her, slowly rocking her from side to side.

The last time he saw this young woman, he left her at the front door of her apartment, feeling she was safe in the hands of her older sister. She was bruised, bitten, and more frightened than he has ever seen another human being. He talked to her a week later and feared she was worse than when he left her. He broke his personal code of ethics, he meddled in her life. He called her sister to say Silla needed help.

And, here she is today, two months later. She may be a little shaky, but she is healing.

Finally able to control herself, Silla takes a step backward. "Will you make me a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," Jack answers walking around her and moving into the kitchen. As he measures the coffee and fills the coffee maker's reservoir with water, he watches Silla look around his apartment, where he knows nothing has changed. Finally she walks across the room and lifts one hip to sit on the high backed stool at the bar.

Jack remembers his first close examination of the young girl, and recalls an erection growing. He called himself every kind of a fool for letting her affect him so easily, but it did not stop him from wanting her. Nothing has changed. She can still cause the same reaction. He stands leaning against the kitchen cabinet, almost afraid to get too close to her. Today she is not wounded, she is vibrant. Her dark hair shines. She is wearing a little makeup and something on her gorgeous lips that make them shine when she turns her head.

No longer dressed in one of his t-shirts and the bottoms to his pajamas or a pair of his old athletic shorts, she is wearing a summer dress. The backless halter top leaves her shoulders and arms bare. The front splits, forming a cup for each breast and shows a deep cleavage. His fingers itch to touch her breasts. He knows exactly what her breasts look like. He photographed her injuries and saved the photos on his computer.

Their conversation finally eases into a comfortable level as she asks about the short-term and long-term tenants of the condominium, how many have returned and how many have put their condo on the market. The island was evacuated, but Jack stayed to weather the storm, feeling it was his duty as the president of the homeowner's association. There is still no full-time guard.

"Oh, I didn't tell you. The maintenance man found your clothes."

"Really?" Silla asks, shaking her head. "Where?"

"Shoes, shorts, shirt, and underwear all stuffed into a plastic bag and tossed into the swimming pool."

"The swimming pool? But how did...," she asks.

Jack interrupts. "I played private detective. I didn't tell anyone. But I took the master maintenance key and went into every unit on the floor below that has frontage on the swimming pool. I tossed a similar bag from the deck of each unit. Hit the pool every time."

"So there's no way to know which unit I was in?" Silla asks as Jack pours their coffee. He turns for a moment holding up the sugar jar, but Silla shakes her head.

"Nope. But, I know who owns each of those units, so I'm going to figure it out." Jack answers the question as he walks around the bar to join her, placing a cup of coffee in front of her.

Silla turns her chair to face Jack, places her hand on his leg and says, quietly, "Please don't."

"I thought that's why you ..."

Silla shakes her head. "No, I don't want to know. I need to put it behind me. I need your help."

"Oh, okay," Jack says and waits for a moment. When Silla says nothing, he asks, "What can I do for you?"

Instead of answering his question, Silla stands and walks across the room to look out the glass sliding doors across his sunny lanai, remembering the hard winds and heavy rain. All during her stay with Jack, she walked to those doors and stood looking at the beach and the waves beyond. Jack moves behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and asks, "What's wrong, Silla?"

Silla leans back against Jack, pulling his hands down to wrap them around her. "I can't ...," she stops and takes a deep breath. "I don't want to be touched." Jack says nothing, knowing she can feel his erection, but he does not care, he just wants to touch her. "I watched you, you know," she says quietly.

"You watched?"

"You'd get an erection when you looked at me. Women don't get an erection or you would have known."

"Known what?"

Turning around inside the circle of his arms, Silla puts her arms around his neck, rises to her toes and kisses Jack, brushing her tongue across his lips and pushing her tongue into his mouth, but does not get the response she expected. When she is once again standing in front of him, she steps back, leaving her shoes where she stood and reaches up behind her neck to untie the halter of her dress, allowing the front of her dress to drop below her waist.

"See, no more bruises," she announces, holding her arms out to give him a full view.

Jack stands and stares at the beauty of her breasts. He has seen them dark with bruises, but now the bruises are gone. Her breasts are round and full with a faint tracing of the blood vessels below the surface of her pale flesh. She has a lushness which will grow as she matures. The areolas are light brown, the nipples becoming pronounced in the cool of the air conditioning. His erection hardens, painfully so. Jack takes a deep breath and slowly releases it.

"Jack, please touch me," Silla pleads. When he does not move, Silla releases a sob, grabs the top of her dress, and rushes across the room.

Jack catches her before she can turn the doorknob. He turns her around and roughly backs her against the door, lifting her off her feet, grinding his hips into hers, his mouth searching for hers as his hands hold her breasts, his thumbs moving across the hard nipples.

He drops to his knees, pulling her with him, and falls back, taking her down with him. He seeks one breast, opening his mouth to take as much of her into his mouth as he can manage. He rolls her to the side, leaves the breast wet as he moves his mouth to the other breast, suckling and leaving it wet. Pushing against her, he moves her to her back and returns to the first breast. His groans of pleasure are almost smothered as Silla pushes his head against herself.

His hand moves down her body, until he can get his hand under the shirt and finds she is not wearing underwear. He cups his hand around the heat of her and pulls her skirt up until he can get his mouth to the softness of her belly. He can smell her, not a perfume, the sharpness of her sex. He leaves wet kisses on her belly. The hair around her pussy, once shaved is now dark, barely covering her. He buries his mouth in the sweetness of her, taking a deep breath, his lips seeking to take all of her into his mouth.

His sudden need for her satisfied, he slows down to enjoy her, listening to her moan. He pushes his tongue between the lips and slowly raises his head, tasting her, savoring her, spreading her juice up across the small bud. Again and again he goes back for more, pushing his tongue as deep into her as he can manage. He has dreamed of her taste, but none of the dreams compare to this reality. She is exquisite.

"Oh god, Jack. Oh. Oh. Jack." She shudders. "Please, don't stop. Wait, wait, Jack," Silla struggles to get away from the intensity of his mouth.

Before she can say another word, he is back at her mouth, kissing her. His tongue goes in and out of her mouth, brushing across the sharpness of her teeth, sharing her taste with her, sucking her luscious lower lip into his mouth, wanting more of her.