In The Rain

"There is an interested party," Aaron had said earlier in the evening, "but he will contact you." Jane remembered these words as she bent to unlock the old Saab's trunk. She unceremoniously dumped her textbooks into the dark interior and grabbed a worn copy of ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST.

The rumbling that had punctuated her instructor's lecture only a few moments before had now become a determined plop-plop-plopping of raindrops. Jane hadn't the slightest idea where her umbrella was. The magazine would have to get her around to the driver's side door. Unfortunately, even as she shut the trunk, she felt as though the paper-shaped tent was merely funneling the rain into her collar and down her spine.

Distracted by this sensation, she was startled to find a man staring at her over the closed trunk lid. Blinking the rain from her eyes, Jane dropped the magazine and managed a "What do you want?" before the stranger could utter a word.

"I'm in your class," is how he began.

"I sit in the back and you sit up front, so maybe you haven't seen me. It's your mythology class with Professor Pater..."

Jane couldn't believe that she had not noticed him. He was a tall, sturdy blonde man with the strangest colored eyes that she had ever seen. They weren't exactly blue or green, nor were they the brown of his jacket.

"So, what do you want?" Jane said, absently wiping at the wet tendrils of hair clumped against her forehead.

"What chapter were we supposed to read? I know that we've skipped one. Do we read ten or twelve?"

Relieved at this innocent question, Jane chuckled. She bent to retrieve her ruined magazine. As she rose to answer "Ten," the man lunged at her.

"What the...?!" was all that Jane could manage to utter before they tumbled to the asphalt. There was a brief struggle as the stranger wrangled Jane's keys from her. He straddled her wriggling form, covered her mouth with his left hand, then unlocked the driver's side door with his right hand.

Jane shuddered beneath his weight. Why was this happening to her? 'Help me, Aaron,' her mind pleaded.

"Get in the car. You'll be driving," the man said as he roughly helped her off the ground and into the Saab. He buckled her into position and reached across her heaving chest to unlock the passenger side door. Jane couldn't help but notice the powerful odor of patchouli that emanated from her attacker. Looking around wildly for any means of escape, she wondered if she would have time to free herself from the belt and open her door before he got to the other side. She didn't think so.

Instead, she used those seconds to try to compose herself. This person hadn't brandished a gun or any other weapon. Even though he had been rough with her, it did not seem to be his intention to harm her. Jane wondered if this could possibly be the "interested party" that Aaron had mentioned. A sudden flood of relief enabled her to stop trembling.

"I'm Mr. Smith," the stranger announced, as he took the seat beside her.

"Aaron told you that I would be contacting you, I hope?"

"Yes, he mentioned that there was someone. Is this your usual method of contact?"

After an uncomfortable silence, Jane took the keys that were offered to her and started the car's engine. The wipers began a steady rhythm as the Saab's headlights streaked across the tiny parking lot. There was no one to be seen.

"You will drive to St. Cloud Commons; do you know where that is?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith, I do."

The drive to the small, secluded park took no more than ten minutes. Rain pelted the windshield, making it difficult for Jane to see where the boundaries of the headlights were. She tried a sidelong glance or two at Mr. Smith, but was met with an angry glare each time. Something did not quite feel right about this experience thus far, but Jane would be damned if she could exactly name it. There was something unsettling, though, about the way that the man rubbed his own wet thigh.

"Park over there by those trees," he said.

Jane complied, noting that they might be seen from the parking lot that was just down the hill. That is, if anyone were looking on this rainy night.

"Leave the headlights on and the engine running. Now, exit the car, Jane."

Jane immediately obeyed, like the good submissive that she was, but her misgivings about the encounter were growing. She felt as though this person might at any time simply take her purse and run. Mr. Smith, however, seemed to have no intention of doing such a thing.

Instead, he came around the car to join Jane in the downpour. His blonde hair formed a soaked skullcap that accentuated the curve of his eyebrows and highlighted the strange coloring of his eyes. Clearing away a few damp strands from her own face, Jane wondered what she might learn from this new encounter. Whatever happened - punishment, humiliation - would not be unbearable. It was temporary. There would always be the next experience, the next dominant. Her sexual life was not an exclusive one.

As she was considering this, Mr. Smith felt the hood of the Saab with both hands. Jane could see a little wisp of steam rising as the water hit the warmed hood. This seemed to please Jane's new handler: he smiled for the first time.

"Come here, Jane."

"Yes, Mr. Smith," she said as she sheltered her eyes from the headlights and rain with her hand.

Jane stood before the stranger in her college student's uniform --- jeans and a now thoroughly soaked t-shirt. Her nipples were two brown stains on the white cotton of her shirt. Vaguely aware of the picture that she was presenting, Jane crossed her arms. This small gesture exhibited her breasts to better advantage. The weight of her jeans made her movements toward Mr. Smith sluggish and ungraceful.

"Remove those jeans," Mr. Smith commanded when Jane stood before him squinting. The headlights bothered her eyes, and she could not see her master properly. How would she be able to discern his pleasure or displeasure? Quickly she shrugged off her pants, leaving the panties plastered against her damp skin. The dark triangle of her pubic hair was visible through the thin fabric. The sight of it spurred Mr. Smith to take action.

Firmly grasping Jane's shoulders, Mr. Smith pushed Jane into a kneeling position. She knew what would be coming next. She dutifully sought and loosened her master's belt buckle. His hardened member sprang from the confines of his pleated pants. Jane, taking it in her hands, felt the rain pelting her calves. Unexpectedly, Mr. Smith pulled his trench coat around her, protecting her torso from the elements. She could feel the caked mud on her good shoes, so she slipped them off and proceeded in her sock feet. The pavement bit into her knees and the tops of her feet, making hundreds of tiny, painful impressions.

The smell of his sex was overpowering. It was that very personal odor mingled with patchouli and something else that Jane could not name. Jane clutched the drier fabric on the seat of Mr. Smith's pants, leaned in, and took his cock into her mouth. The length and weight of it surprised her, delighted her. Sshe greedily coaxed more and more of it deeper and deeper down her throat. Mr. Smith made no sound or indication of approval, but Jane could feel the changing tension in the muscles of his buttocks. He was obviously aroused. He began to massage her head through the coat material.

This inspired jane to incredible efforts. She pulled him into and out of her with greater rapidity. Her tongue slathered around the girth of Smith's penis; her teeth teased the tip of it mercilessly. The hairy underside of his scotum was not forgotten. She licked his cock, his balls, and even the crack of his buttocks. Once or twice, her furtive tongue darted into his anus, savoring the sour, almost salty taste of it.

Jane's make-up had been washed away long ago, but her lipstick remained a burgundy blotch amidst all of that pale skin. It, too, soon succumbed to rain, saliva, and semen. A bit of the color gathered at the corners of her mouth, coloring the fluid that dribbled from there. Her lips and jaws ached as she perfected the rhythm of her attacks on Mr. Smith's throbbing cock.

Unexpectedly, he pushed her to the ground. Jane landed gracelessly in a puddle of mud. The cold, dirty water shocked goose pimples to her skin's surface. She began to tremble, as much in indecision as anything else. Should she rise and risk the wrath of her master? What could this mean? She had been having the worst luck lately with supposed dominants who lost their composure; she didn't know why they weren't submissive slaves instead of the masters that they presented themselves as. Her complaints to Aaron would be much more vocal next time.

Jane wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. The taste of him lingered in her mouth. He had turned from her, and she assumed from his actions that he was again confining his hardened member to his pleated pants. Turning, Mr. Smith removed his trench coat and was immediately drenched in the downpour.

Stay tuned as Mr. Smith ties Jane to the hood of the car for some really wet sex!