The wind is strong and whips the front door closed, the old wood creaking and groaning as it slams shut, over and over. She pulls herself up off the cot and drags herself to the front door, keeping the wool blanket wrapped tightly around her exhausted body. She flips the latch on the door, trying to keep it closed, but the wind proves too much and it flies back, slams against the wall and makes her jump.
She puts her back to the door and sits on the dirt-laden floor, in front of the hearth, the heat from the fire making her cold face tingle. She raises her hands to the flames to warm them and her blanket falls off behind her and in an instant the wind drags it away. It is her last possession that can keep her warm so she must summon the energy to get to her feet once again.
She pushes up off the old deteriorating floor, her hands stained with struggle, her body nearly too exhausted to lift her own weight. She is within reach of the blanket when the wind pulls it through the door and carries it into the evening sky, ebbing and flowing just within reach but not quite close enough to catch. She needs the wool blanket for survival and so she attempts to run after it, but the strength of the wind proves too much and she is knocked to the ground.
She lies there, crippled with exhaustion and starvation, watching the white wool blanket dance wildly in the sky and that’s when she sees it—another black blizzard on the horizon line. She didn’t know if she could withstand another storm so she closed her eyes and wished for it to be over quick.
Just then she hears hooves in the distance. She hasn’t got the energy to lift her head and fight the wind so she lies there, calling for the horse as loud as she can, which seems quiet compared to the turbulent winds.
The sounds of the hooves are gone and she can’t make out a figure through the dust. Maybe she imagined it. She closed her eyes once again. “Take me,” she whispered to herself, “take me, just take me.” It is then in her hour of greatest despair that she feels him.
She never opens her eyes; she is too tired to respond. He asks her name and she cannot bring herself to speak. She then feels a thick, powerful arm slide underneath her and in one quick motion, the man scoops her up and puts her over his shoulder. She can see the back of his boots faintly and then her eyes become too heavy to keep open. She feels the up and down motion of the horse’s hooves carrying them swiftly to somewhere, anywhere else.
The next time she awakens she is in a bed, covered in a gray wool blanket, her head resting on a stuffed pillow. She looks around the room. It is a small room with a small hearth and a humble wood table with two chairs. There is a rug on the floor, a stack of pots in the corner of the room and a few shotguns leaning up against the wall. There are no windows and the door is boarded up. It appears that there is no way out and yet she does not feel she is in harm’s way.
“You’re awake,” the voice comes from the foot of the bed where he sits, in a small chair, with his legs crossed and his hat in his hand. His dark hair is greasy and tousled, his face is dirty and his clothes are covered in dust. He appears to be a cowboy of sorts and as of now he is also her savior.
“You were in a bad way when I found you,” he spoke quietly and calmly. She didn’t speak but she sat up in bed, seeing she was wearing a clean cotton gown and her hair had been tied behind her. She held her hands out in front of her—they were clean.
“Yeah, you was pretty dirty,” he continued, watching her and trying to piece it all together for her. “My sister cleaned you up and gave you some new clothes. She ain’t here now, she had to go tend to her chickens but she’ll be back when the storm passes, tomorrow probably.”
She swung her legs out of the side of the bed and he leapt from his chair and fell to his knees in front of her.
“Be careful now, I reckon you ain’t had much to eat in a while. Don’t want you fallin’ now,” he outstretched his hand which was dark with work and wear, and she took it.
He served her a bowl of some sort of stew and she inhaled it. He gave her a mug of whiskey and she tossed it back. The warmth of the booze soothed her aching body.
“Thank you,” when she finally spoke her voice was soft and delicate, much like her demeanor.
“I couldn’t believe I found you there,” he said, grabbing a rag from the metal pale on the floor.
He began washing himself with the cool water, the rag turned brown from the many layers of dust on his skin. She turned her head as she changed his clothes, putting on a clean pair of trousers and a long-sleeved thermal.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest now,” he said, his eyes were big and blue and his face was covered in black and gray stubble.
He slipped into the small cot and was almost immediately asleep. It had been so long since she’d seen anyone much less a strong, sexy man that she didn’t want to waste any time. With food in her belly and whiskey in her veins, she pulled off her gauze-like cotton gown and slipped onto the cot behind him. She reached around his waist and let her hand find the opening to his trousers.
She dug around for a moment then found his manhood. It was thick, thicker than she expected, and long. She wasn’t sure if he was awake or not but he was breathing heavily. Feeling his manhood in her hands made her warm between her thighs and she liked it. She thought she was going to die out there in the dust storm and now that she was safe, she wanted to feel good.
She began moving him around in her hand until he became rigid and ready for her. She pulled his shoulder back and he rolled over, laying flat on his back. She could see now that he was indeed awake. She climbed onto him, letting his powerful rod slide up into her womanhood. His powerful hands squeezed her bare breasts and she rode him, his piece prodding all of her deepest spots.
Then she felt something powerful happen inside of her. A pressure, a tension, a growing energy inside her that was aching to be released. She felt herself tighten down on his manhood, her body began convulsing with pleasure, sweat rolling down her forehead.
And then she felt a hot fluid release inside of her. She looked down at him and his eyes were closed, tightly, and he was thrusting his hips up with each release of liquid warmth. When he was done, she rolled off of him and found herself feeling warm and tired.
The last thought in her mind before she dozed off was how lucky she felt to be rescued by a cowboy that could make her feel warm, inside and out.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hzf7zz/the_dust_storm_cowboy_mf