The Perfect Storm

Annette lunged forward slowly, but not slowly enough. Nude, her breasts swung with the movement. It was why she did yoga naked. If she did it right, nothing moved, well not much. But there was the sound of distant thunder and she was anxious. She finished her routine and grabbed the remote.

A scroll bar appeared at the bottom of the TV screen. Annette felt a little thrill, a tingle running down her spine. "SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING ISSUED FOR THE FOLLOWING COUNTIES UNTIL 2:00 AM..." She thumbed the remote and found a weather guy standing before a weather map. He was explaining how the two low pressure systems would merge over the next few hours to create a massive storm with torrential rains, damaging winds, hail, lightening, even the possibility of a tornado.

Sure enough, the radar glowed dark green with large patches of yellow and a bit of red. And it was heading her way.

The tingle that had raced down her spine settled in her clit. She loved weather, the more severe the better. It both terrified her and excited her. She loved to sit on the patio when it stormed. It was recessed and covered and provided a lot of protection except in the most driving rains. She'd count chimpanzees with each lightning flash, eight chimpanzees was about a mile. Sometimes she didn't get a chance to count. The flash and the boom were simultaneous and Annette would race inside, arms clutching her sides, trembling. Sometimes she was so frightened she wet herself. But it also excited her - sexually. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was ... who knows what. She had stopped trying to analyze it. And it wasn't the flash, though the flash startled her in a pleasant way, it was the thunder, the hissing, crackling, BOOM! She'd close her eyes, but it didn't help. The blinding flash would penetrate her lids, a brief warning as to what was to come.

Annette went into the bedroom, pulled on a sweatshirt and pants, slipped her feet into flip flops, dug the sleeping bag out of the closet. Most nights, work nights, she would do this at home, in her bed, content to fall asleep after, but it was Friday and she had no plans for the weekend.

The defroster didn't make a dent in the fogged up windshield. Annette used her sleeve to wipe a clear streak. It was raining now, steady and hard. She could see distant flashes of light, counted chimpanzees. The edge of the storm was about three miles away. She drove the six blocks to the university's athletic complex.

The arena parking lot was nearly empty, three or four cars nudged up against the curb by the entrance. Annette steered her car into a spot pretty much dead center in the lot. She had to open her door to find the lines and got a face full of water for her trouble.

It was getting dark. The windows so coated with moisture that the distant lights looked like dull, yellow orbs. It was raining harder now, the cabin was filled with the tap, tap, tap of large drops, slowly at first, then picking up in tempo. She locked the doors.

Annette dropped her key ring into the console, closed the lid, pulled off her sweatshirt, kicked off her sandals, tugged off the pants. She tossed the sleeping bag into the back seat and climbed in after it. She flipped the latch.

The right half of the back seat folded down. Annette reached in and pulled out the milk crate. It had her tool box, jumper cables, various fluids, and a roll of duct tape. She set the crate on the seat and grabbed the tape. She peeled off a strip and pressed it over her lips. She took another and made a U under her chin. Through the fog-shrouded glass she saw the flash, heard the boom. It was close - very close. Her hands trembled. Normally she didn't gag herself. At home in her bedroom, there was nobody to hear her scream. And she did scream. But out here, who knew if someone would come close to the car, hear her, and call 911?

She peeled two pieces of tape, made an A shape from her forehead, down over her eyes. She pushed the bag through the hole and slithered into the trunk after it. She fumbled for and grabbed the nylon web loop and pulled that seat back until it latched into place.

Annette untied, then unrolled the bag. Not an easy thing to do in the cramped trunk. She unzipped it and fished out the two sets of fuzzy hand cuffs. She snicked one set on her ankles, slid her feet into the sack, squirmed a bit. It was a mummy sack, thick, soft, and narrow. The zipper only went down about half way, so it took quite a bit of squirming.

It was always at this point that she felt a bit of panic. Naked, nearly helpless, lying in the car's trunk. The key to the cuffs was on her key ring, up front. Once sealed in the bag she would truly be helpless until the storm passed and the trembling stopped and she could untie the knot. And, if the weather report was accurate, that wouldn't be for at least six hours.

Annette zipped the bag, pulled the hood over her head, finished zipping it, found the drawstrings, and pulled. Pulled until the hood covered her entire head, leaving only her nose poking out through a small hole in the middle. The tied the ends, tight. Once, she'd had to use both her hands and her teeth to get the knot undone. It took a while. She locked the second set of cuffs on her wrists.

While the cabin was insulated, the trunk was simply a thin metal box. It was like being inside a drum. Rain pounded, echoed. The thunder was getting louder. Annette shivered in the blackness.

She reached a shaking hand between her legs, slid a finger between her wet lips, and waited for the perfect storm.

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