When the motor was out of hearing, Sueanne began to move again, her body stiffened by the cold. She could hear the quiet hooting of an owl and the occasional movement of small animals through the brush. She walked down the hill to the edge of the road, following the shoulder sloped with snow, looking for a sign of human life; the bulky outline of a house against the sky, a chimney smoking, a light, anything. But everywhere was darkness.
Mike Blocker paced the wooden floor of his hunting cabin, hidden in a stand of pines and accessible only by a foot-path that led half a mile from the main road into the woods. He didn't expect to be trapped like this and he was certain that his wife was worried sick, back in town. He'd come out to the cabin for some late hunting. "It's going to snow," his wife warned him, "there's going to be a blizzard this weekend." But he was fed up with family, his two young bawling sons, his wailing infant daughter and his wife who'd taken recently to nagging him about "moving up the ladder" – getting promoted, making more money. He needed a weekend, alone, at the cabin.
It was unlucky from the start. He barely made it to the cabin, his car limping along with a boiling radiator. He'd hailed a State Trooper who arranged to have the car towed back to town for repair. Mike figured he would hitch back to town himself at the end of the weekend. But as the snow piled up around the cabin and he huddled by the stone fireplace, he wondered if he'd be able to get out by Sunday night. No snow ploughs were going to come up his footpath. Well, perhaps his wife would get uptight about the storm and send the State Troopers looking for him. He sure as hell wasn't going to get any hunting done. He couldn't even wedge the cabin door open. It was blocked by snowdrifts four feet high.
Mike could hear something moving in the snow outside. He hoped to hell it wasn't a black bear, looking for the comfort of a fireplace. He reached over to seize his shotgun in his fist and waited.
Bears would break windows, he had heard, and climb into a little log cabin like this one, looking for warmth, looking for food. And Mike knew that he would make a fine dinner for a hungry bear. He held his breath and listened to the crunching sound. One footstep, then another. It was coming closer.
Sueanne saw the slight indentation of the footpath from the shoulder of the road and began to follow it. There must, she reasoned, be something at the top of the path. Maybe a deserted campsite, a cabin, something. She knew how to build a fire and she thought she could survive the blizzard if she could only find some kind of shelter.
When the outline of the cabin appeared, her heart jumped joyously. She saw the flicker of firelight through the windows and speeded up her difficult steps through the thickening snow, drifting as the night breeze picked up speed.
Maybe someone else who's stranded, she first thought, but as she neared the cabin, she wondered if she was about to meet a recluse, some kind of weirdo. Maybe the old, fierce man that the kids called the Guru of the Mountain. He was known to pile buckshot into kid's asses and send them screaming from the mountain. But Sueanne had no choice and she approached the heavy wooden door, pushing her way through the drift of snow, banging with her fist on the wood, her cold, stiff fingers feeling as though they were going to splinter.
"Who is it?"
Mike was relieved but he tucked the shotgun under his arm as he approached the door. No bear was going to knock politely, it had to be a human. Maybe it was the State Police, sent by his worried wife to look for him.
"I'm lost," a girl's voice came through the door, "I'm freezing."
He pushed against the door but it wouldn't open, frozen solidly into the snow drift.
"The door's blocked," he said, "come to the window."
From inside, Mike looked out at the young girl. Slender, blonde, no more than fifteen or sixteen, a virgin beauty.
Sueanne could see the husky, thirty-five year old man through the glazed window. A square-jawed, moderately handsome fellow, he had a warm smile like her father's. She felt warmer and safe even before she climbed with frozen knees and hands across the drifted mound of snow and let his strong hands close around her forearms and lift her through the window. She stood, dripping, in front of the fireplace, letting the warmth seep painfully into her frozen limbs as the dark-haired man pulled down the window.
"It's a real bastard out there," he said. Sueanne knew that he was looking her over, that he was pleased at what he saw. "Take off your coat and get warmed up," he said in a firm paternal manner, "there's hot coffee on the burner."
She dropped her soaking coat on the floor beside the fire and rubbed her limbs furiously, trying to regain the circulation. She saw his eyes follow her hands as she rubbed her ankles, her calves, her thighs.
"Been out there long?"
"About an hour," she said, her teeth still shaking.
"Car break down?"
"No," she said. "I was on a date and the boy I was with…" She hesitated, feeling silly and girlish for not being able to handle a mere teenage boy, for having to get out of the car and take the chance of freezing to death in a blizzard.
"He was giving you a rough time?" The big man grinned. "You picked a hell of night to get out and walk."
She smiled and agreed. She liked the man's grin, his easy, rambling way of moving and talking. She wasn't at all frightened when he ambled over to her and sat down on the floor beside her.
"Here," he said, "let me see if I can get that circulation going for you. I used to be on the Squaw Valley rescue squad. Many's the time I've saved somebody from freezing in a blizzard."
He put his big, warm hands on the back of her neck and massaged until her skin tingled, the circulation rushing back into the flesh. She felt his fingers pressing into her shoulders, down the soft flesh of her upper arms, her fingers caught in the big palms of his hands as he squeezed and manipulated her flesh into a normal warmth.
Her back seemed to press toward his massaging fingers as she felt the warmth returning to her backbone, her waist, her buttocks. His hands moved over her body without shame or embarrassment and pounded her slender body back to warmth and life.
As she felt his hands encircling her thighs, the warmth returned to her virgin crotch and she felt the wetness of her panties, cold against her warm flesh. She was hoping that his fingers would follow the natural curve of her thigh and press against her warm crotch, too, but the man stopped short at the fleshy upper part of her thighs and removed his hands.
"How are your feet?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled off her boots and took her socked feet in his hands, rubbing them briskly into warmth.
"What's your name?" Sueanne watched the man's broad back flexing its muscles under the thick, wool shirt. She wanted to see his back naked, wanted to see the muscles moving, stretching under the skin.
"Mike Blocker," he said easily, "I sell insurance over to Morristown."
"Oh," Sueanne let his hands move up her ankles, to her calves and knees-again. She was sitting so that she knew he could see the crotch of her panties and she wondered if the dampness showed.
"I'm from Rockberg," she said, her voice quivering with excitement as his hands moved further up her legs. "My name's Sueanne Rogers. My daddy's a real estate broker."
Mike grimaced slightly. He had read in the newspapers about her daddy, Rogers from Rockberg. He was not only a real estate broker, he was also City Councilman and he had an eye on being Mayor.
Sueanne could see the big man trying to control his physical reactions as he continued to press his fingers into her warming flesh. His thumbs were working on the back sides of her thighs and he was facing her, his eyes glued to her pulsing crotch. She could feel the fleshy, warm lips of her little cunt, moving, opening, as the warm juice seeped into the cotton of her panties.