After the heavy stories "Precious" and "Colours of the Soul", I had to do something lighter. This is a very short story that came to me at 4:24 AM recently. It certainly isn't as heavy as the last stories I've offered to you.

This story contains erotica. That might even mean descriptions of sexual acts between consenting adults. If such stories offend, or bother you, or if you are a minor, please don't read it. Trust me. You won't offend me by not reading it.

Though I often use music as inspiration for these works, this story was not inspired by AC/DC. Just in case you were wondering.

Characters and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people and places are a strange coincidence.

I must thank Munk for looking over the story, and all her support for these endeavours. Without her, you wouldn't be reading this.

This story is copyrighted by the author. It is intended for the enjoyment of individuals and may not be archived beyond a personal electronic copy, nor may it be reposted with the exceptions of the following conditions. Special permission is granted for distribution through Usenet groups alt.sex.stories and alt.sex.stories.moderated. Further, it may be archived through the DejaNews service and the alt.sex.stories.moderated archives which are both free services. This work may not be distributed in any other manner without specific permission from the author. If you wish to feature it on a free website, please contact author.

Comments are always welcome at dcrimson@yahoo.com

Notice that the archive locations has changed:

http://members.tripod.com/~Dragon_Of_Crimson

http://www.asstr.org/~Crimson_Dragon

- Crimson

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Thunder Struck [ MF, cons, rain ]

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(c) August 1998 - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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Kathleen could almost smell the sharpness of ozone as the sudden cacophony woke her from a glowing dreamscape. In the disturbed dream she had been approaching a girl in diaphanous white, slowly walking towards a raised marble dais. She'd been whispering unknown syllables, the sounds falling rhythmically between her parted lips, passing through heady incense, and mingling with the gentle singing voices surrounding her. The quiet rhythms of the haunting dream melody had shattered into a million shards, like a mirror broken from the sudden force of a hammered fist.

She was conscious of the next strike before she had fully awakened, its luminosity lighting her retinas through the blinds and her closed eyelids. The subsequent crashing was immediate and close, shaking her lungs and rattling the bed in which she lay.

She curled up, drawing the covers under her chin and softly whimpered. She opened her eyes again, dreading the next strike, hoping that the thunder would move away and leave her alone. She wasn't alone. His face on the pillow beside her, softly illuminated by the dim light from the window, was strong and relaxed in sleep. She looked at him with envy, wondering how he could sleep through the storm and wishing she could rejoin him in dreamscape. She reached out tentatively and traced his cheek with one slender finger. He murmured and rolled over at the touch, not waking.

Another strike, not as close, rumbled through the darkness. She jumped at the flash and then again with the thunder moments later. Kathleen swallowed, suddenly thirsty. Her heart reverberated a dull rhythm in her ears.

Lifting the sheets damp with her perspiration, she swung her bare legs from the bed and sat up. Another flash illuminated the room like an eerie strobe. She cried out as the thunder washed over her, but her small sounds were no match for the power of the storm. Her tiny cries were the squeak of a mouse fighting the mighty roar of a wolf.

As she rose to her bare feet, the rain began to tumble to the earth, released in a torrent of tears from the heavens above. Even through the insulation of the attic, she could hear the staccato beat of the rain against the shingles. She looked at the stippled ceiling above her and silently thanked a higher power that she had a roof over her head, and that she was warm and dry. Despite her protection from the elements, she shivered. She hugged herself as she walked carefully out of the room, leaving the prone man sleeping, blissfully unaware of the storm or her distress. Her bare feet whispered across the hardwood and down the flight of steps to the main level of the house.

She poured a tall glass of milk in the dim glow of the refrigerator lamp. Sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, she could hear the rain whipping into the glass of the windows. She cringed as something heavy began to hit the house, the new beat low and dangerous.

She tightened, lowering her head to the table, her heart racing, her stomach in knots. Tears threatened and spilled as another bolt of light streaked across the sky, its roar carried and simultaneously shattered by the wind.

She wanted to call for her father. Her father would protect her, stop the storm, stop her fright, stroke her hair ever so gently until it ended, infinitely patient with her. Her sisters had always made fun of her, taunting her. Their voices echoed through her memory.

"Baby. Baby. Afraid of the thunder. Grow up little baby." She could still hear their singsong voices tormenting her through the intervening years.

Her father, long gone now, chastised the imps who couldn't possibly understand, but it had only stopped them while in his presence. Engulfing her small hand in his own, her father lead her to the window, parting the curtains, showing her the storm, forcing her to confront it, forcing her to confront herself, gently teaching her. He had picked her up, at last, soothing her by the window, cradling her in his arms, both of them staring out at a long ago thunderstorm. She had been dry and safe in his arms as she had witnessed the fierceness outside, her heart at last slowing to his soft murmurs.

She tried desperately to remember the lessons, tried to remember her father, but even his face was obscured, and with his absence the fear returned. Her heart ached and hammered as another bolt slammed into the earth outside.

She found herself in front of the patio doors, her fingers touching the blinds. She had no recollection of moving to the doorway. Glancing back, her milk was unfinished, still sitting resolutely on the table. As she parted the venetian blinds with a flick of her wrist, another bolt of lightning showed its rage to the cowering land beneath. The flash lit her, framing her in the glass of the doorway. Her bare breasts uplifted, nipples painfully tight, as she caught her breath. Her mostly nude body beckoned the storm as her toes gripped the tile beneath her bare feet.

The neighbourhood was dark; it was sleeping or carefully ignoring this storm venting the Gods' rage outside. She normally wouldn't have exposed herself like this, in only her pink panties, but she had to see the storm. Had to embrace it. Had to tame it. Her father had taught her so long ago. She concentrated, willing it to end, willing it to subside before her.

The Gods smiled down on her simple beauty and her determination. For a moment, the winds died down, and the freezing hail ceased to descend. Quiet gripped the world.

Kathleen sighed, silently shaking. As she turned away from the glass, the Gods, perhaps upset at losing sight of her beauty, relinquished their hold on the elements. Another crash of lightning lit up the gray sky, turning it shades of pink and rose, blinding the girl into stumbling away from the patio doors. A large maple shrieked in pain as the thunder nearly shattered the glass protecting Kathleen.

As she sank to her knees, she glanced up at the clock lit bright blue on the microwave. 4:24 AM. Her eyes had begun to adjust to the lower light levels though streaks of orange suffused her vision. Tears ran down her face, blurring the clock. She blinked once, trying to clear her eyes of the moisture threatening to blind her. In a heartbeat, the blue luminescence of the numbers flashed into darkness. The refrigerator stumbled and fell silent. The rage of the storm intensified in the sudden silence. Instead of being satisfied with the damage it had wrought, the storm seemingly took joy in the cessation of electricity, inspiring further violence.

Kathleen whimpered like a small child afraid of the monsters in the dark. She desperately conjured up the image of strong arms, safety, warmth and dryness. She rocked on her knees, silently crying, paralyzed, staring at the rain thundering into the deck beyond her gate of glass.

She closed her eyes, hugging herself below her breasts. Inhaling, she took long deep breaths, still silently praying for forgiveness for whatever sins she had committed. Again, her father's image came to her, wrapping his strong arms around her, whispering comfort into her ear, stroking her strawberry blonde tresses. She slowly opened her wet eyes, actually feeling the arms around her. But it couldn't be her father.

Slowly she turned her head, feeling soft breathing in her ear.

"The storm, isn't it?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"Come back to bed?" he asked her gently.

She took a deep breath. Not answering him, she spoke quietly, her voice quivering. "Did I wake you?"

Even though he was kneeling behind her, gently pulling her back between his knees, she could feel him smile. "No. Some small noise woke me, and you weren't there. I figured you'd be here."

He tilted the glass against her lips and she drank her abandoned milk, savouring the taste. She could feel the solidity of his arms, nearly as firm as her father's, but not quite. She was grown now and solidity was a relative measure. He lowered the glass after it was empty, letting her catch her breath.

"The Johnson's maple isn't very happy either ..." her voice trailed off.

"And you like giving the neighbours a show?" he asked playfully as his finger traced down across her bare nipple.

"I ... wasn't. I forgot my robe upstairs."

"It's alright. Power's off. No light to see you by. Only this." His finger lightly traced down her other breast. She shivered against him but made no move to avoid his caress. Distracted, her hammering heart had slowed with his presence. His touch ignited a quicker, different beating.

She closed her eyes and tried to return to the dream. Incense. Singing. Women in white. Calm. The storm receded, though peripherally she was aware of the hail and the intermittent flashes beyond her closed lids.

She felt herself gathered in strong arms and lifted. She could almost believe she was still eight, and her father was returning a frightened, half asleep little girl to bed. Relaxing, finally, she allowed her husband to carry her, felt him stumble at the last stair, but didn't flinch. If the storm couldn't attack her in his arms, then the threat of a short fall didn't frighten her either.

She felt his lips against hers as she was lowered to the bedclothes. The rain intensified, beating as though to interrupt, furious that it had been balked. She returned the kiss hungrily, reaching for him, pulling him to her, kissing fiercely, biting gently at his upper lip.

She could feel her fingers tracing his skin, then removing the wispy bit of pink cotton from her hips. She could feel his fingers touching her, stroking her, teasing her as their lips met in satiny lushness. Again, the storm receded, as though to give them privacy. Her body responded, her sex tingling and pulsing slowly - pulsing as though to the beat of the almost constant thunder crashing around her.

He entered her in one smooth motion. She cried out at the sudden penetration, but immediately relaxed, enjoying the sensations of fullness. She pushed herself against him, wanting him pressed into the depths of her. Tears fell slowly from her eyes as she cried out softly, again, her voice intermixing with the storm's rage. Desperately, she moved with him, the waves of desire warring with the shore of irrational fear. Slowly, her insistent passion eroded to the centre of her being, the fierceness of the storm paled beside the fires building in their slow kisses and motion. Vaguely, she could hear the gentle squeaking of the bed through the white noise of the storm, above even her soft sighs. His joining with her exorcised the daemons of her fear. The waves built until she felt him stiffen inside of her with a muffled cry, spilling gently into her. His final deep thrust touched her, sending her cascading over the valleys and mountaintops of her onrushing climax. As she arched into him, her head fell back into the pillows, a bright light illuminated her senses. As she screamed out his name, the thunder embraced her, driving its bass into her core, joining her cry of triumph and pleasure.

As her pulse slowly returned to normal, she hugged him as the thunder had embraced her moments ago. She held him close, laying her head upon his shoulder, whispering nonsense quietly into his ear.

For a while they remained, comforting and near. The thunder had moved away after the final strike of rage at her defiant pleasure. Kathleen could feel her body demanding sleep, her eyes heavy and stinging. The aftermath of the tempest and her satiation flowed through her like an insistent whisper calling to her. Together, they lay, her head cradled in the crook of his arm.

"Better?" he asked her sleepily.

"Have I told you I loved you lately?"

"I'll take that as a yes," he replied quietly.

"Oh yes," she sighed into his rapidly slowing chest.

She was aware when he fell asleep again, his breathing telling her. She lay with him for some time, listening to the receding, ineffectual rumbling of the storm seemingly in rhythm with his breathing.

Her body ached from the love making, but it was a nice ache. Pangs of tears rose unbidden to her eyes. Carefully, she slipped out of his sleepy embrace, padding across the hardwood again. She shivered, this time because her body temperature had dropped. She hugged herself, but didn't slip on the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door.

She opened the blinds covering the bedroom window. She quietly slid the glass open, exposing the night. The distant rumble of the thunder carried more clearly to her ears. The sweet smell of summer rain infused her, and she inhaled it, savoured it, let it flow over her senses. She had conquered it, defied the Gods once more. She shivered as a cool wind caressed her bare breasts, raising small bumps as though she'd stepped from the shower. Drips of water fell irregularly from the roof onto the deck below, sounding like a faucet in need of tightening. The neighbour's maple had fallen across the grass, mute testament to the ferocity of the Gods. She would help the Johnsons with tomorrow's clean up.

She sighed, feeling the heaviness of sleep invading her aching body. As she softly closed the window, she heard the sudden hum of the refrigerator fill the quiet house. The bedside clock flashed 12:00 in bright red bursts, as though thankful to her for freeing it from exile.

She padded back to bed, slipping nude between the sheets. Warmth and peace flooded through her skin. She curled up, tucking the bedclothes back under her chin. Her musk permeated the room, mixing with the smell of fresh rain, providing a calming, airy elixir. She cradled her head against the familiarity of him, kissing gently at his chest. He stirred, but didn't wake.

The storm passed. She listened to the last of the distant rumbles as they faded into safe obscurity. It was as though the storm had never been. Darkness and peace overtook her, and she gratefully joined her mate in the world of dreams.

Her dreams were filled with gentle summer rain, women in white, and incomprehensible words. But no thunder.
