Dark Rescue Ch. 01

Standing outside the private diagnostic clinic, the rain came down in buckets. The kind of rain, in big drops, so closely spaced, that if you looked up and opened your mouth, you'd drown. That kind of rain.

Standing there, just under the overhang, I was still mostly dry. The girl—well, woman—standing next to me wearing a thin cotton dress, bare shoulders, with spaghetti-straps holding it up, was pretty well soaked and obviously shivering in the cold.

I'd just gotten my most recent bottle of retroviral meds from the clinic and read the results of my last blood tests, two weeks previous. The results were the same. Depressingly so. I was still HIV-positive, although my T-cell count was still OK. As long as I kept taking my meds, I had a good chance of dying of old age before the virus caught up with me.

But it'd been the end of social life as I'd known it. No friends. No drinking, sports-watching buddies. No sharing drinks or food. No touching or cuddling. No dating. No woman in my life. No sex.

The last gift from my cheating ex-wife—the gift that kept on giving—not that she ever knew about infecting me.

The girl next to me was making little movements, toward the wall of water, then back. Indecision written on her face and body. Her hair, done up in many thick braids, was also soaked. Behind us, the clinic doors had just been closed and locked, so it seemed to her that it was either forward, for more soaking or stand there all night, shivering.

So, naturally, my 'damsel-in-distress' conditioning kicked in, as I introduced myself as David Montclair (that's two syllables ... pronounced "Dah-VEED"). I'm 38 years old, 6' 6", 245 lbs. and with an independent income, living off the royalties of several critical patents in cryogenic-adhesives engineering.

To which I got back the ghost of a smile and a name returned, which she said was Shayla (two syllables ... SHEA-La). She was about 5' nothing, maybe a little too skinny, a former hospital floor nurse but unemployed right now. No last name given, probably wise, since she was talking to a complete stranger.

A little small talk, and then my offer of a ride to where she wanted to go. No strings, no conditions. "No rape," I even said, with what I hoped was a disarming smile.

Damn, she accepted, right there on the spot. Cautioning her to please wait for me, I spread my big golf umbrella and stepped into the deluge, in a walk to my car. No sense running, as the water in the clinic's parking area was already ankle deep.

I reached my 2009 Hyundai Santa Fe crossover-SUV and got in. Reliable as usual, the engine caught and started immediately. That was a good feeling!

I got out my emergency wool blanket and dry-off towel, arranging them on the seat next to me.

I pulled out of the parking space and maneuvered the passenger-side door to just under the overhang, then unlocked the side door from inside. I pushed it open and a very wet, shivering woman got into the seat, atop the towel and blanket. Wool's warm, even if soaked with water, and, over the next few moments, between the blanket and the car's heater, she stopped shivering.

Driving a few hundred yards, I parked the car, leaving it running and just let her absorb the heat and keep it in with the blanket, before I asked, "Where do you want me to take you?"

She started several sentences, but stopped in the middle of each. First a cheap motel, a few miles away. Then a Woman's Shelter, the next county over. Then the YWCA, downtown. Finally, she just shrugged, and asked if she could stay in my car until tomorrow.

I just sort-of asked, "Homeless?"

She nodded, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

I sighed—the 'damsel-in-distress' conditioning now in full cruise control—as I asked, "Uh, Miss, can I take you home with me? Dinner and breakfast. Hot shower. Clean sheets. Safe bed. Locked door. Same deal as offering you a ride. No strings. No conditions. No getting you drunk. No drugs. No seduction. No rape."

She nodded, again, as she dug in her purse, extracting a plastic pill bottle. I offered her water from my un-opened bottle, there on the console. Taking the pill, she wordlessly passed the now empty pill bottle over to me. Printed on it, I read that it was an antiretroviral, to be taken 2x a day.

I asked, "Infected, right?"

She nodded, then asked, "Do I still get to go to your place, eat, take a shower and sleep safe?"

I nodded 'yes' while pulling my own newly-refilled bottle of the same antiretroviral Rx meds from my damp shirt pocket. The identical same medication, as I took back the bottle of water and chugged down my own afternoon/evening dose.

"Me, too," I muttered, then added, "yeah, the same deal as before. I don't make empty promises. You can't infect me any more than I already am, even with a 'thank you' kiss, tomorrow."

Noting her pill bottle was empty—and knowing that the pills had to be taken without any interruption or her symptoms would recur—I pulled the car over to an spot on a curb and poured part of my larger bottle into her nearly empty one.

Handing her now mostly full one back, I intercepted a wide-eyed stare.

"What?" I asked.

"You just gave me life," she near-whispered, adding, "hold still."

She leaned over the center console and kissed me, full on the lips. Her eyes went even wider, as it seemed an electric shock coursed through me and, apparently, through her as well. A second kiss followed in a couple of moments, complete with a little tongue. I felt the same 'shock'.

Then my mouth was all but raped, as Shyla, my passenger of the moment, surged across the car's center console grabbed my head and shoulders, then proceeded to investigate the state of my mouth, throat and tonsils by the tongue-thrust method, while depriving me of life-giving oxygen for several minutes.

Finally breaking free of me, she gasped for air, as she grinned and said, "Take me to your place, where I can do more of that. You just gave me life in pill form. I didn't ask for it. You just did it. Take me to where you live. Then take me!"

Still grinning like a mad woman, she added, "No discussion. You don't get a vote. Get me to your place. Kiss me. Feed me. Strip me bare. Look at me, all naked, with lust. Bathe me. More kiss. Play with my tits and suck my nips. Then take me, as deep and as hard as you can!"

Driving to my small home, just outside Houston, Texas, I didn't break any speed laws ... just barely. I opened the garage with my visor-mounted 'clicker'. Shayla bounded out of the car by herself. Opening the back door, which led into the living area, I was all but dragged onto the love-seat there, again to be kissed unto death-by-suffocation.

About 15 minutes later, we both had a large mug of Irish Potato Soup and a salami sandwich on homemade bread (I'd just baked that morning) with a soft drink. Some conversation revealed that she's been semi-starved and sleeping 'rough' for a couple of weeks, so I told her to take eating slow and that she'd feel full on one cup of hearty soup and a sandwich. Tomorrow and for the next few days, there wouldn't be enough food in the entire world for her appetite, or so she'd feel. Luckily, my home was well stocked.

More Salami-flavored kisses followed.

Directing Shayla to the shower, I turned to get out the good soap, shampoo and the fluffy towels out plus turning on the little electric heater. Turning back, I almost dropped everything, as my lovely guest—who had known me for less than a couple of hours—had used a sharp little pocket knife to cut the spaghetti-straps over her shoulders that had held up her dress.

Note the past tense. Her dress now puddled on the floor, ruined for further wearing. Dressed for the moment in a threadbare bra and equally worn full cover-up panties. In a couple of movements, these joined the dress puddle on the floor, also cut up with the little knife blade.

I had a fully-nude woman standing in my bathroom, waiting for the flow of hot water to start. Boobs bouncing with her breathing. Her former clothing was a ruined mess on the floor. Completely nude until I bought her some clothes. The fully nude woman was still grinning like a maniac.

She said, "OK, David, out of them clothes. Now! You don't get a vote! No discussion! Strip."

I warned, "Shayla, it's been a long couple of years. I haven't even touched a wom ..."

She 'shushed' me with a finger and said, "David, shut the fuck up and get in your damn shower with your new woman, namely me. I need to get clean and then I need to have your hard cock in my hand, between my tits and in my mouth. Clean is gonna take about 3 minutes, rinse in 2 minutes and my hands and lips on your cock is gonna take until we run out of hot water. Cum on my face or tits. Then we get out, towel off and go to your bed, where you're gonna take me for the rest of as many cums as you can have."

As the hot water got both of us wet, she quickly soaped up her body and ran rinse water over herself, then washed me down rapidly. As soon as the last bit of soap swirled down the drain, my five-foot tall bundle of African-American jungle-juice knelt down in the pouring water and inhaled my pulsing male organ, plus stroking with her little hand.

You have to see a nude, really dark black woman, slowly sucking on a white guy's rigid cock—while grinning—to know how it's done!

I couldn't last and didn't. It'd been too long. I blasted her with my semen within a minute. I watched in horrified delight as I coated her face and tits with my long-denied jizz, which was immediately washed down the drain by the falling water.

We did run out of hot water, finally. Toweling only took about four times a long, because she insisted on making sure that my cock and balls were dry ... and also insisting that I had to re-inspect her pussy slit for excess moisture, which somehow kept forming and re-forming, no matter how often I tried to pat it dry.

We both ran to the bed and tumbled onto it.

Shayla said, "David, what do you want, right now? Tell me the truth. Don't lie. Don't try to dress it up. What do you want?"

It should have been difficult. I should have been stuttering, or maybe suave. Given her a well-honed line.

Instead, I said, "I want you, in this bed. I want this hard cock thrusting inside your body. I want my hand and fingers on your boobs, mauling your nipples. I want to see you nude, having another orgasm, under me, as I thrust my hard dick into your body. I want to see and hear you gasp and squeal with pleasure as I use my erection in you. I want to take you sexually, over and over. Then I want to nap a little, and wake up, play with your tits again and take you some more. Please loose count of the number of time you cum.

Then I want to make you dinner, sort of on an at-home-date. It's backwards, I know."

There was a pause. It felt long, except for the cool hand that held my hard cock. There was no question what she wanted. "Take me to your kitchen and feed me dinner, later. Now take me! Do everything you said. Then do it again."

Laying there, she suddenly brushed at her shoulder, first on and then the other. I asked, "Scared?"

"No," she said, "I just brushed away a couple of somethings I don't need any more ... tell you more, later."

"David, don't lie to me. I know you got your disease from your ex-wife. You probably have a longer, more detailed version to tell me. I had a boyfriend who was on the 'down-low,' which is how I got mine. That's my short version. Now, because we're both positive, neither one of us has been getting any sex, I think."

"That's not important any more. Don't dress anything up. Tell me exactly what you want, and use plain words. Don't be afraid to say 'fuck' and 'cunt' and 'tit'."

I looked down at her, and said, "Talk to me, while I fuck you. Tell me what's happening. Tell me the truth. Make lots of noise. Cum a lot. Tell me how I can move and feel and fuck and thrust, so that you get more and more pleasure, better and better. Do stuff you've only fantasized about before. Don't fake anything."

"I've got a condom in my ..." I started to say, but she interrupted, "I'm sterile, my last boyfriend made sure of that. All my other diseases have been cured, that's partly why I was at the clinic. You're clean, too, except for the disease we both have.

Put the damn condom back and then fuck me forever. Cum in me. Lots and lots of wonderful, hot, sticky cum. "Way up inside me. Fuck me like a man who hasn't had sex for a year."

I looked down at her and said, "It's been two years and I haven't."

The wide expanse of the king-size bed beckoned.

END OF PART 1