Snowed up Felt Up

It had snowed solidly for nearly twenty four hours. All along the border, roads were blocked, and animals that hadn't hibernated were trapped. The three men sitting around the desk in a small border patrol station were warm enough, but were equally trapped.

Jack Cadding, ranger in charge of this section of the border fence, turned to the burly wool shirted man to his left. "Fucking snow," he growled. "Hell, I've been in this post for five years and I've seen snow but never as heavy as this. What about you, Griz?"

The older man, Griz, said "I've seen it snow for five full days but that was on and off. Christ, I'm glad I read the signs and came down here last night. Last time I took shelter here must have been ten years ago, and it was no way as bad as this."

Bo Seager, Jack's young deputy, gasped, "What were the signs?"

"Heavy sky, temperature and a sort of curdling of the air. You learn to read these things when you're out in the forest day after day. Deer heading downhill, poor beasts. Don't know how they'll handle this." Griz replied.

Bo looked towards his boss, who was slowly nodding his head. "Hell, it must be six feet deep now."

Jack Cadding shook his head, "Said on the radio before it packed in, that we could be close to breaking the world record eight feet in eighteen hours."

"Where the hell was that?" Bo asked, his young face showing some concern.

"Place called Capracotta in Italy."

"And we've had near twenty two hours of it," Griz affirmed, he slid from his chair and went to the window. "It's still coming down. And this stuff takes some shifting even when it stops. We could be stuck for a few days."

"Fucking snow." Jack snapped, "Phone lines down, the radio signal is all but dead. Worse, I had a promise to get my end away tonight."

Griz curled his full lips, "And I've come to eat all your grub."

"No, you're welcome—plenty of canned food. Piles of logs out back, for the two stoves." Jack told him. "Milk will keep out in the cool of the back corridor. There are even two crates of beer we haven't started on yet. If the generator in the cellar holds out we'll keep our electric light."

"Just as well," Griz muttered, looking from one to the other. "Could be a week, maybe longer before it clears."

Bo leapt to his feet, "What? I've got a hot date on Friday."

Griz shrugged, "Better keep cool," And he laughed at that.

"Christ", Jack moaned, clutching at his groin." I'm going to have a right top on by that time. Fucking snow."

Bo moved across to poke at the logs in the big stove, "Our prisoner's going to freeze to death in that cell."

"Prisoner?" Griz voiced some surprise. "I didn't know you kept prisoners here."

"Well, where do you think Bo's been taking food? To feed the mice?" Jack shook his head. "That's our job. Catching anybody trying to get through from the other side. Hawk-eye Bo here brought this one in last afternoon. Just before you turned up. Usually we only have them one night."

"So this one is going to be longer term?"

Bo nodded, "Longer than we've ever kept anybody. I've given her extra blankets."

Griz looked from one to the other, "Her? A woman?"

Jack's head had jerked in Bo's direction, "You didn't tell me it was a woman."

"You didn't seem interested."

Jack shook his head, "Christ, she was so wrapped up. Might have been a gorilla for all I could see. And you said the name was Terry. I assumed a guy. What's she like, Bo?"

Bo looked rather apologetic, "Hard to say. You saw the layers of clothes she had on. The snow was just starting---Face wasn't ugly. But with the extra blankets I've given her, it's hard to tell. Older than me."

They were now all looking from one to the other, as Jack mused, "Even if she's only a face. Trapped here for two weeks—a face will have a mouth."

"Those extra blankets--she sounded very grateful," Bo mused

Jack gave a slight laugh, "How long since you dipped your endit in honey, Griz?"

Griz gave him a hard gaze, and appeared to be doing calculations in his head, "My Phoebe died ten years ago. God, it must be four years."

Jack came to his feet and leaned forward with his hands on the desk as though conducting a meeting, "Be a shame if she froze to death when we could keep her warm. Why didn't you suggest this earlier Bo?"

Bo looked just a little stunned, "I didn't know—"

"Let's discuss how it should go."

Terry Coop sat hunched on her bunk bed, clutching the blankets close to her chilled body. A rising uneasiness was making her even more uncomfortable. This minute space was what they called a cell, where a plasterboard screen in the corner hid a hole in the ground toilet and a tiny sink. She had looked disconsolately out of the small window to see that the snow had not ceased all night and was now too deep for anybody to come and move her on.

Her attempt to break through that damned border fence had turned into one terrible mistake. Terry was sure there had been no choice, especially since the death of Petri, that dear old man, could now be used by the state police to worsen the case against her.

Much of the night she had huddled on this bunk, reviewing how fate had turned so completely against her. All right, she had always known that the house she was running was illegal on that side of the border, but which jealous bastard had informed the state cops?

From the age of eighteen when she had escaped from the religious strait-jacket her parents had held her in, Terry had known she had a highly charged libido. The young nineteen year old, who had taken her virginity had expressed his shock at how avid she had been.

That avidity had grown as the years passed. If she went more than a couple of days without the thrill of a hard cock pounding into her she became so agitated and depressed. She had long ago admitted to herself that she was probably just two paces from nymphomania. Eventually, learning how much money could be made from her sexuality had led her into the illicit house of Michelle Fabret. Michelle had taught her so much more about channelling her wild desires, and eventually how to run the business with discretion.

The unfortunate illness that took Michelle had left Terry (known to her clients as Tereta) with the opportunity to take over the business. The six other girls had been quite willing to follow her lead. Terry was in a position to choose the men whom she knew could give her close to ultimate satisfaction, and pay her well for her lascivious attention. Her bank account was well stacked.

Then came that betrayal. A disgruntled client, or more likely the wife of some regular client who had discovered his indiscretions, Terry never really knew. Luckily, a frequent client, while cursing the state police, had warned her of a proposed raid they were about to make on her house. Terry just had time to provide some remuneration for the girls, before dispersing them.

With a heavy heart she had set fire to the place to ensure there could be no incriminating evidence. Swiftly leaving behind everything that linked her to her business as a madam, Terry had no real idea of what to do with herself. Her car was useless to her. She hadn't the necessary papers that would get her through the border gate, and driving it in these parts, it would be easily identified by the police.

Desperate and so alone, she trudged through the cold night until she found herself in a street that gave her some hope. A street of up-market houses where dear Petri Locoff lived.

Petri had been a client of the house when Terry first arrived some ten years earlier. Although In his mid sixties then, he had amazed Terry with his lusty ability to fill her with his proud cock. He always asked for her after their first occasion, and declared her to be the 'hottest lady' he had ever known. "Apart from my late wife," he would add with a wry smile.

Into his seventies, and with Terry now running the house, his visits became less. Occasionally he would request to just talk with her. Treating him as a friend and not just a client, Terry had been happy to oblige. On odd visits he would ask her to try to get him erect, and Terry would work with fingers, tongue and lips, occasionally delighting in how pleased he was when her encouragement succeeded. Terry never knew exactly what his business had been, but he always paid her generously.

One night when she held his stubbornly flaccid penis in her hands he had broke down in tears, and was so upset that she had driven him home. Now she was outside his front door once more, hoping for a place to hide.

The wrinkles in his face disappeared as he gave her a delighted smile of welcome. There was no hesitation in inviting her in, and his shock and anger were genuine as she told him of what had befallen her.

He insisted she stay until the initial fuss died down, and, for three weeks, Terry cooked for him, and gave him occasional asexual cuddles. Then one day he told her that there were wanted posters out for her. He laughed as he told her, "Fortunately they have spelled your name incorrectly and called you Fereta Coop , and the picture looks more like me" He showed her the bundle of warm clothes he had bought for her. The dear man.

She told him of her hopes of setting up a 'friendly' house across the border where it wasn't illegal. Petri had been eager to help her escape, hating the regime here as much as anyone could. He took her out in his car to show her where she might reach the fence without being detected, an area where sheltering trees were thickest.

Walking among the trees with him reminded her of one of the ew good memories she had of her father. Weekends, after church, of course, he would take her on a walk just like she was having with Petri. Terry had loved the feeling of being close to nature, of just breathing in the fresh air, and seeing the birds and small animals darting out of reach. It was an experience that, sadly, did not last long, and the life style she chose denied her the chance to take it further.

Taking that walk again, even though the air was freezing cold had been a pleasure swith dear Petri, who as they drove back told her, "When you get through the wire, I'll have driven through the border gates, and will pick you up and drive you into town."

What a darling he was. They agreed the date two days ahead, and he even provided her with a pair of cutters for the wire.

Hell, was it just yesterday morning as she lay in bed excited by the prospects of her escape that tragedy had struck? Petri had come into her bedroom wearing only his pyjama pants, and quietly asked for a farewell cuddle. Petri's body looked in better shape than men of fifty she had been with, and she had no hesitation in allowing him to snuggle against her naked body.

His skin was warm and felt good against her. Terry smiled to herself as she felt his limp cock against her thigh, but was surprised when it began to harden. Petri, of course, was over the moon, and asked if it might be hard enough to enter her.

His closeness had already moistened her, and she enjoyed the look of joy on his face as his erect rod slid up her willing passage. He had made two admirably lusty strokes when he started gurgling. Terry thought he was simply climaxing, but when she looked up she was shocked to see that his eyes had rolled up, and his lips had turned purple. Within seconds he was giving one long sigh, and he collapsed sideways off her.

All her efforts at resuscitation were useless. There was no doubt that Petri was dead, and Terry, in tears, sat beside the body, holding on to his hand. The one consolation she could find was in hoping she had made his last moments happy. Then she began to think about the consequences.

First, there was no lift to the spot they had chosen, but she decided that she could use Petri's car to get there. But, without Petri, there was no pick-up over the border. She knew it was very cold, but decided to take her chances.

Thinking she might need food she made some cheese sandwiches, and she took her time in breaking the stitching in the lining of the anorak Petri had bought, and in the space she sewed her bank card, which held her future, and the false passport, which had her picture, but the name Tania Turror.

Then she laid out Petri's body in a respectful position, kissed his cold lips, and, it being late afternoon, she dressed in the layers of warm clothes that Petri had purchased. She left the house and drove up to the chosen spot, thinking it wise to park the car some distance away to remove any chance of association.

It was all going so well. Through the trees and she was up to the fence. Nobody around as she began cutting herself a convenient gap. Silently she said a prayer for Petri for providing such sharp cutters,

A light snow drifted down as she began to slide her body through the gap. How lucky that she'd got here before she could have left tracks. Beginning to worry about the problems that a fall of snow might bring, Terry wriggled to free her jeans from a snagging wire, and that was when the commanding voice made her jump, and her heart sank. She looked up to see a young man in a dark uniform, pointing a pistol at her.

"Get up, keep your hands in sight."

He identified himself as being from border control, and pointed Terry in a direction which was away from where she knew the road would be. As they walked, with him occasionally prodding her to keep going, the light flakes of snow fluttered weakly around them.

At last they reached a small building three feet of brick and the rest wood with a wide veranda in front, and a sign above stating 'Border Patrol.' Inside, the warm temperature immediately hit her. She could have bathed in that.

A dark haired, slightly older man, sat at a desk, flicking through a magazine. He had one quick glance and then his face was back in the magazine. "Where's this one pop up?" he asked gruffly.

"Coming through the fence, Jack."

"Crazy, some of them. Cell one." He pushed a register across the desk to the young man, "Better put some detail in here. One night here and then away."

The young man leaned over the desk and picked up a pen, "Name?"

"Terry," she replied, wondering what instinct had made her talk gruffly. But that was the moment that she looked at a notice board on the nearest wall, and there was the poster. Petri had been right they had managed to get the name wrong. "Fereta Coop. Wanted for lewd behaviour , running an illicit house of deviation, and arson."

Impudent bastards, there was nothing deviant in her house, but a little worriedly she feared the picture looked a little more like her than Petri had indicated. The good factor was that it was an old picture, taken at a time when she had her hair blond.

"Last name?"

What a big mistake it would be to give him her real name now. Quickly she gave the surname that appeared on the passport tucked in her anorak. "Turror," she said.

"Spell that."

She started but the one called Jack growled, "Oh, stop fucking about, Bo. Who the fuck cares how it's spelled? Into cell one, and get me some coffee."

When the one called Bo pushed her into the cell the temperature hit her, "It's freezing," she groaned.

"I'll get you another blanket."

A glance through the tiny window told her that the snow was coming down thicker and faster.

So here she was in this hell hole, trapped by the bloody snow. She had frozen through the night, and too much of this would kill her. The ranger called Bo, when he brought her morning meal, told her that her pick-up wouldn't be coming. For the first time for a while she became aware of her deprived libido. Before poor Petri had made his fatal attempt she hadn't been fucked for two days.

Footsteps on the corridor, followed immediately by the sound of a key in the lock, killed her deliberations. She had been given her rotten meal. What was this about?

The door opened and the young man came in, "Boss wants to see you," he said, and as Terry stood, he signalled for her to hold out her hands, so he could apply the handcuffs. He was a cute kid, twenty years old maybe. The kind she'd pass on to the other girls because too often they were in, up and shoot. Terry kept the controlled guys for herself.

Now she had to suppress a smile, at the handcuff request, and with her blanket around her head and shoulders she allowed herself to be led out of the chill cell. From the corridor, the short walk led to a solid door, and when her guard pushed it open a rush of soothing warm air oozed over her.

For a moment she blinked in the light, and her eyes quickly took in the scene, which she had caught briefly as she was hustled through on the previous day.. A large blazing stove on the right was clearly the provider of the welcome heat, and to her left was a smaller stove with a grill and a bench and sink alongside. A row of mugs along the bench told her that was what stood for a kitchen.

A door on the wall to her left was, she knew, the route to the outside. There were two doors to the right and one in the wall opposite. At the desk in the centre of the room two men had stood up as she entered, not from courtesy, Terry suspected, but more from curiosity, as their eyes looked her up and down. Not a good view, she reckoned.

The tall one, who she reckoned from what the young guy had said was his chief, dressed in the same blue shirt. God, shirt sleeves, while she was freezing. He wasn't a bad looking guy, and she bet under that shirt he was tightly muscled. That thought gave her a little twinge inside.

The other man was a totally different character, older than the ranger by about ten years. He was in, what Terry would call a cowboy style shirt, with sleeves rolled up over well muscled tanned arms. His body was compact, and his shirt and jeans seemed tight around him. Blue eyes flashed from a dark hairy face, slight moustache, with thick stubble around the jaw.

"Christ, Bo, why the fucking handcuffs? Where's she going?"

Terry allowed herself an inward smile as, looking slightly shamefaced, the young Bo, came and undid the cuffs.

"She's wrapped up like a fucking untidy parcel," the older man chuckled.

Terry stood still and docile. She was pretty sure why she had been brought through here. These were men, and they were facing being trapped, maybe for days, and there was a woman present. This was a side of human nature that she was so familiar with. Her insides tingled.

The ranger said, "Let me introduce ourselves. I'm Jack Cadding, in charge of this fucking dump. This here is Griz, the local wild man who lives in a shack up in the hills the year round. We only see him when the weather turns nasty."

"I'm not so wild and I've only come down for winter once before," Griz protested.

"Okay, "Jack admitted before going on. "And Bo Seager, my deputy, you've already met. He told me your name was Terry and I thought you were a man, but you're not, are you?" His smile was accompanied by a slight leer, which to some ladies would have been frightening, for Terry it was full of promise. God, she needed it.

She shook her head with eyes down, a shy, frightened female. There had been a time many years ago when she had fancied being an actress. Now she had a feeling that she was going to be able to test her skills in that direction. A quick glance at the poster reminded her that she didn't dare show any signs of wanting or needing sex.

Jack's dark eyes looked directly into her face, still surrounded by the blanket. "You like the comfort in here?"

Terry nodded and muttered, "Nice and warm."

Jack nodded, "Looks like you're stuck here for a while. Like to have your bunk against that wall until the snow goes?"

Terry had noticed that there were three bunks against three of the walls. She nodded her head, shyly, "That would be nice."