Warmth

I again am no expert on such things but I am pretty sure I needed to use body heat to warm her up. Hopefully the blankets and fire in the small space would create quite a sauna for her, maybe helping to speed up her warming. So, I opted to not get dressed. The more skin-to-skin contact the better, I think.

Hopefully if she gains consciousness while I am doing this she will not freak out and understand that desperate times call for desperate measures.

Phoning out was not an option. Even if it wasn't snowing and iced over and the roads were in the best of conditions, it would take emergency services a half hour to get here and pick her up, and then another half hour back to the small emergency clinic in town. Add in the weather and there just was no way. Minutes of delay could have a serious impact.

I sighed and looked at her. Helpless. I grabbed a stocking cap, slipped it on her head (her head was exposed after all), pulled a pair of heavy wool socks onto her feet and slid into the bed with her.

I pulled her body up against mine, her chest pressing tight against me. Again, her nipples grazing and finally poking against my chest. Her thighs nestled on either side of mine. Her nether region was pressed against my thigh. She. Was. Cold.

I felt my dick rest against her hip. Her very cold hip. I couldn't help but have a fleeting very brief moment of pleasure feeling her soft body against mine. But I again refocused on the task at hand.

I knew that heat escapes through hands and feet and head (at least I think that was true). I had taken care of her feet and head. The only pair of gloves I had were the ones covered in ice that I wore when getting her from the car. Maybe my body was warm enough. And in this position, the warmest place for her to put her hands was in my lap - a center of heat for me. Well for everyone I think. She wasn't going to remember any of it anyway, and honestly it is not like it is going to feel great or anything. I moved her hands quickly into my lap. And I was right. I felt an extreme cold jolt through me as it felt like I had put ice packs on either side of my dick.

All of these were reminders to get her blood flowing. I moved my hands up and down her back, her sides, her thighs. Her face pressed against my upper chest and shoulder. I felt a little breath against my skin. Her fingers loosely laid between my dick and my thighs. I pressed her hands harder between my legs, hoping that by burying them there we would see some success.

After several minutes of this plan, I felt the panic really begin. I think I just assumed that she would get warm in several minutes, I would then wait for her to wake up, and she would thank me. And maybe then she would thank me more by kissing my cheek, her hero and all. But these basic things were not happening. At all.

What else? I needed to get her heart pumping. More blood moving. More warmth.

Without much consideration I slid my fingers down between us, grazing her belly. She didn't react at all as my fingers slid down her nearly completely shaved mound, over very slight stubble.

After all, this was a heat center, right? Heat radiates from there to the rest of the body, right? Getting that warmer would help, right? Right?

She was dry, which is no surprise at all. But I began to gently slide my fingers into her, to try to get her at least unconsciously turned on.

Yes, I felt terrible. Essentially my actions violated a woman that I did not know at all. Obviously, there was no consent here. But in the back of my mind I felt this was a bit of a last resort. I honestly had no idea what else to do.

<<<<(-)>>>>

He paused his storytelling to seemingly gauge my reaction. How did I feel? Knowing that this guy essentially began to finger fuck me while I was almost in a coma to try to get me to warm up. Oh. My. God. Yeah, how do I feel? My stomach lurched a bit.

Did I believe him? My body language reading instincts tell me that he felt a lot of guilt about this so it is not like he relished in doing it. And obviously the situation was not a sexy one at all. At least it didn't seem to be. Unless he was someone so perverted that an unconscious sexual groping was a huge thrill for him. But he didn't seem like that type.

Part of me felt very very very embarrassed. Part of me felt angry that he would move to that point. Very very angry. But then, I was here. Awake. Alive.

"I am so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. Honestly." His eyes almost pleaded with me. His gentle expression. I got the feeling that this guy wasn't normally a gentle guy. I mean he looked like he chopped wood for the fun of it. And he lived out away from everyone and everything.

I found my eyes dropping to look at his fingers. The fingers that had entered into me, to raise my temperature. Somehow, even with me existing as essentially a frozen popsicle he had managed to raise my temperature with those fingers.

He had strong hands. I had already felt them on me, but his fingers were long and looked like they gripped well. Maybe an axe. Or a stack of wood. Or something else outdoors. Or apparently me.

Did he insert one finger in me? Two? I didn't want to know but then I did. I wanted to know how he did it. I really did. I almost needed to know but was pre-embarrassed by whatever answer he would give. If I could experience it when it happened I could at least understand now.

Those hands. On me. Inside me. Massaging me. Exploring me. I felt the hint of what happens when I begin to get turned on, which of course doesn't make sense as I should be upset. Angry. Embarrassed. But those emotions are taking a backseat to this rise of a feeling of excitement.

I kind of wanted to be really angry, maybe only because I thought I should be.

And my hands were actually in his lap. I found myself oddly trying to imagine what he looked like . . . there . . . What is wrong with me??

My eyes met his again, his embarrassment and concern clearly etched across his face. Obviously, he couldn't read the rapid shifts of thinking going on behind my eyes.

"I . . . I don't . . . Just please continue," I managed. He nodded but none of his fears diminished. He took a deep breath and began again.

<<<<(-)>>>>

I kept her hugged close to me as I pumped my fingers in and out of her. I felt this guilt like I have never felt before. I am not the kinda guy that would ever do this kind of thing, but here I was trying to sexually arouse a woman to bring her body temperature up to less dangerous levels. And that was the key. Her body temperature HAD to rise.

She remained mostly dry, with little to no reaction from her at all. No moaning. No groaning. Barely any movement. I wish she would because then I would feel less like a perverted sick creep.

I felt her lips on either side of my fingers. I tried going in deeper. I even tried stimulating her clitoris as I knew that some women experienced arousal and satisfaction more through that method. Well, girls that I had been with anyway.

After a few more minutes with nothing else changing I found myself problem-solving again.

Heat center. Still makes sense. How can I get her warmer quicker there? I wished I had paid closer attention in first aid class when I was in boy scouts.

I felt like I was pretty much out of options. Her temperature didn't seem to be changing much and I knew that if her body temperature didn't rise she would be in danger of permanent cognitive impact. Or I guess death. I had heard about organs shutting down in some situations but I really didn't know how it happened. Probably slowly. Maybe it was already happening with her?

I acted. I acted because the act of sitting in a situation where someone's life was on the edge of a knife, doing very little to change what wasn't working, seemed foolish.

I laid her completely back on the bed and I rolled on top of her. I figured my much larger frame would help convey heat to and trap heat in hers.

I reached down and massaged my dick for about a minute. There wasn't much sexy about this moment, but looking at her pretty face and feeling her skin (albeit so cold) against mine, and feeling the softness of her body did the trick. I felt semi-hard. Hard enough.

I held my dick as I spread her thighs to either side of my hips.

<<<<(-)>>>>

He was looking at me again, like they were boring into me. I felt so conscious of myself at that moment. I knew what was next and it was as if he was so afraid of speaking it.

I didn't know what I felt. Apparently, this man had at some level had sex with me as I laid unconscious and dying. Anger flared automatically. I brought my hands to my face. It felt like a bit of a horror moment for me. It moved from being a sexy thought of undressing me to him actually fucking me. And I wasn't even 'present' consciously. My head started to swim again.

Suddenly my thoughts went to my pussy. I didn't feel pain, but it had a dick in there. A stranger's dick. One that I didn't even see. I felt such an overwhelming sense of embarrassment.

"I . . . " His voice broke the silence. I looked at him and shook my head. I know there was a scowl on my face and I could see this big strong man almost shift back a bit. Not necessarily in fear but more in the way one gives space.

He remained quiet.

I found my hands subconsciously moving towards my lap. His loose boxers shifted against my lower lips. Usually this semi-loose cottony movement would feel nice, but now it was just a reminder of a violation. Not physical pain, but almost a searing emotional one.

I felt heat in my cheeks as I glanced at him. He sat and watched me, obeying my non-verbal command to remain quiet, his hands in his lap. He looked at me out of concern, his gentle eyes watching my face. He didn't back down in shame. He watched me quietly.

"Is that . . . what warmed me up?" I managed to almost spit it out. My head at this point felt like it was going to explode.

He nodded and quietly responded, "yes, it did."

"Did you . . . " I didn't think I could ask it. He looked at me for a moment, "finish?" He asked.

I nodded. I detected a blush coming to his cheeks.

"No, I didn't." He added, "I didn't want to introduce problems except as a very last resort." He was being soft in his speech and movements in his non-threatening way.

So, he didn't cum in me. Odd. But he fucked me for a while. And it brought up my temperature.

"So, for a few minutes then?" I still felt anger, but I wanted to put the puzzle pieces together. I knew every answer he gave would bring a great amount of embarrassment. But I needed to know. Because I think I would invent a much more dramatic or worse story without the details. Or maybe not. The story was pretty extreme all by itself.

"No, forty-five minutes, I think." He was still watching my eyes, "until I felt your temperature rising."

"What??!!" Forty-five minutes? Holy hell. How. What.

'I am sorry. I had to bring up your temperature. I honestly didn't know what else to do."

"How in the hell did you go for forty-five minutes and not cum???" At this point, I forgot to be embarrassed and was just in a state of disbelief.

I actually think I startled him on that one as he seemed to be put off his footing for a moment. I think he expected all of the conversation up to this point. Now we were in new territory for him.

"Well . . . I stopped and started . . . um a bunch. I like paced myself?" Yep, he definitely wasn't prepared to give that answer.

I covered my face with my hands, half to cover my embarrassment and half to take him out of my sight as I thought it all through.

So, he stripped me, bathed me, finger fucked me and then fucked me for forty-five minutes without cumming. This tall drink of water of a guy who I seriously would be crushing on outside of this crazy fucked up situation had apparently known me 'biblically,' and I wasn't even conscious.

I actually felt the tears start forming in my eyes. Anger was shifting to embarrassed sadness. Or something. I didn't want to see him. But then I did. But then I didn't. No way to avoid it anyway as it was like a 400 square foot cabin all in one open room.

And then a thought.

"Did I?"

"Yes, a few times I think. I . . . felt it happen. That seemed to help." I think he was anticipating that question. At least he was now. Maybe he thought only some questions were on the table until he heard my crazy outbursts, and now all were on the table.

I looked up again, removing my hands. He was sitting again in front of me, yet he had produced some tissues and he handed them to me.

"Liz, I am so sorry. I take full responsibility for it all but I am honestly not sure what could have been done differently. I wish I did know . . . "

I wiped my eyes with the tissue and nodded.

Ok, time to take inventory. How did I feel? Anger? Some, but he wasn't just some perv. He needed to warm me up. And I know he didn't orgasm (God how is that even possible?) as I didn't feel anything when I went to the bathroom. Although that was nearly 24 hours earlier. But I am guessing I would have had some left over stickiness.

So, not cumming felt like a pretty big sacrifice on his part. I glanced at him as if I was sizing him up. He continued to quietly watch me. Yep, I think he told the truth there. I am surprised he didn't finish himself off in the tiny bathroom, but maybe the guilt made it deflate after my last warming orgasm. I am not going to ask that. That even felt like one step too far even if he was completely appeasing me on everything.

I felt embarrassed. I felt like my privacy had been invaded in such an unbelievably intrusive way. But then if I thought about him like a doctor, the stripping and bathing part was no big deal. The fingering and fucking probably was against the Hippocratic Oath though. So, 'Doctor' Jim used the tools at his disposal: a tub, blankets, socks, stocking hat, his manly hands, his manly chest, his long fingers and his dick (size to be determined).

I let the thoughts drift a bit. I ran through the events through my head again: undressing and fingering and bathing and sex. I felt panic as I thought about them. What caused that the most? He SAVED my life so shouldn't I feel indebted? Why would I feel this anxiety over this if he took all steps and measures to at least try to protect my dignity even if my own autonomy played no part in it.

Wait. A thought. That's it, I think.

"Jim, I am working through this." He nodded.

"I feel like my privacy has really been violated." He nodded again, expecting all of it.

"In a way that I can't even . . . put words to." He nodded again.

"But I know you were doing everything you could to save me. And deep down I know that. So, thank you. Sincerely. Without what you did, I am sure I would not be sitting here now. I owe you my life." His eyes remained on me.

"You believe me when I say thank you?" He nodded again. I think he thought a 'but' was on its way. And he was right.

"But I cannot help but feel like I was an object here. I had no choices. No control at all. And I just hate that feeling. It's eating me up. It actually really hurts. It makes me feel so . . . unsafe. It may be my own problem. My own pride. Or something."

"No, it isn't . . . " he began but I held up a finger and he quieted down again. I almost smiled. I hadn't felt this powerful before, but I am sure it is because of how absolutely powerless I felt up to this point. It's all relative.

"One second please. Let me finish." He nodded again.

I began again. "So, I would like to balance it out." His head cocked as he tried to determine where I was going.

Did I want to go this route? Did I want him to do this? Would this help? I honestly think it would, so yes, I do want to do this.

"Please take off your clothes, Jim. For me." I surprised myself in how confidently I spoke. It radiated a tingling of excitement through me, which just reinforced that this might be a good path.

His eyes stared at me for a moment. I am not sure if it was disbelief or the need for a moment to process, but he just sat. I didn't feel the need to repeat it as I know he heard me fine, so I just waited.

That moment I felt a bit of a relief. I am sure some counselor would have a hey-day with this: counter balancing the trauma of the event by taking control blah blah blah, memory replacement therapy blah blah, but I didn't care. This, in my odd way of thinking, made sense to me. No psychobabble or fancy terms, just a girl trying to take control.

I was pulled out of my thoughts again by Jim standing up. He began pulling his shirt over his head. He then reached down and slid both socks off very quickly. His eyes then shifted to his belt, and so my eyes shifted from his face down his torso.

Yeah, he was muscular. And lean but built. I could see some definition in his stomach, his pecs bulging just enough to be naturally developed rather than at a gym. He was very well proportioned. A rather sexy look. He was built a bit like a swimmer.

The movement of him pulling his belt out of the belt loops of his jeans brought me out of my thoughts. I have to admit that this was turning me on a little. I certainly was no dominatrix or anything, but having a pretty good-looking guy give me my own personal strip show was pretty sexy. In fact, it was completely and totally sexy.

A few years ago, some girl friends and I went to a male strip club for a bachelorette party. The guys stripped to thongs and danced around with their hairless oiled bodies. I would say I was slightly aroused, but mostly amused at that time.

With this? Those dancers had nothing on Jim. Here was a man with just enough hair on his chest, just enough to run my fingers through. His muscles were there because he needed them for what he did. And he wasn't gyrating his hips, but I could barely take my eyes off of them as he began sliding his jeans down. I felt this need to put my hands on them. And hold him. Or pull him.

My eyes moved from his boxer-briefs up to his eyes, which were watching my face. He stood there, raising one eyebrow. He didn't seem embarrassed. In some ways, it seems like my request made sense to him. Or maybe he just was an exhibitionist.

I sat up on the bed, cross-legged, with the blanket pulled close around my shoulders. I gave him a small smirk and a nod. He silently nodded back.

And with one motion, Jim my savior was naked in front of me.

Large hands. Large feet. Yep, apparently all else is proportionally correct. I really found myself staring at it a bit. It wasn't porn star huge, but it was longer than average and a bit thick. And flaccid. And very very nice.

I pulled my eyes back up and looked at him. He stood in front of me waiting as if asking what was next. Yeah, what was next.

"Please draw a bath." Words came out without me even considering them. He nodded and left me to move to the tub. I got to enjoy the back side of him as he walked away, which honestly looked as amazing as the front. Muscular and firm. Something else begging for me to grab onto.

It took a few minutes for the water to fill the tub, so he took that moment to stoke the fire. I watched his muscles ripple under his skin as he moved around. Most guys wouldn't look great naked doing stuff around 'the house' but in this case he looked quite good.

Each time he transitioned to a new task (moving to the fireplace, adding more wood, stoking the fire with the poker, moving back to the tub) he glanced at me. I didn't feel any embarrassment about watching him. I felt entitled really.

"All ready," he quietly announced.

"Come here please," I instructed as I unwound myself from the blankets.

He just nodded and came over to stand in front of me. My eyes took in his whole body as they traveled up to his face.

"Undress me please."