4 comments/ 20863 views/ 4 favorites Goddess By: LuciferPeters Goddess By Lucifer Peters I saw her as a goddess in a summer dress, that summer by the lake. We swam beneath a platinum moon; plunging, naked through the cool dark void. Warm skin behind me, whispering, savoring the moment. Her breasts were like an electric shock as they crushed against my back, and she wrapped her arms around me from behind. I thought I was a good swimmer, but her kick felt incredibly powerful as she came up on me from behind. I could feel her bush pressed up against my butt as she kissed my neck and nibbled at my ear. I couldn't help but get slightly aroused. As we played in the water I had the uneasy feeling that it was very deep even though we were close to shore. The water was cold when you dove under or even swung your feet down. I mentioned it to her, and she told me there was a waterfall here before they dammed the creek. She released me and swam quickly toward the dock. She was half way there before I could turn and start moving. I swam as fast as I could, and arrived at the dock as she balanced on her fingertips and swung her feet under her without touching the dock with anything but her fingers. I watched her stand up as rivulets of water streamed down her body defining every curve. That image will remain burned in my mind for the rest of my life. There wasn't a hint of self consciousness as she stood there with everything exposed, and gave a slight shiver to cast off the water. She walked down the dock onto the perfectly manicured lawn. The light from the French doors and windows of the cottage illuminated droplets like tiny jewels encrusting her body. As I followed her she stepped up on the porch and entered the cottage. When I came through the door she already had her blonde hair wrapped in an expensive towel. She took one from a hook next to the door and tossed it to me, telling me in a matter of fact way to dry off before stepping on the carpet. She took another towel and finished drying herself. Then she expertly wrapped the towel around her breasts and tucked it in. Walking across the living room, she turned just past the fireplace and said, "Ryan, be a dear and start us a fire would you?" Then she turned and went into the front bedroom. I went to the back bedroom and put on some comfortable clothes, then busied myself making a fire. I noticed that everything was spotless, and every supply was at your fingertips just where you'd expect to find it. After starting the fire and putting the screen back in place, I could hear the sound of water from the bath. Realizing that she was taking her time I thought it was a bad idea to be dressed in my scruffy knock-around clothes. I turned off all the lights in the front of the house, except for one lamp on the far side of the room that had a dimmer. I went back to the bedroom and set about making myself presentable. I took a shower, combed, brushed my hair, shaved, and put on a touch of Adrenaline cologne. I put on a pair of silk boxers, and decided I was well enough dressed for the evening. I filched the king sized pillows from the bed, and noticed a rustic looking blanket on the shelf in the closet. It turned out to be as soft as a baby's blanket. Back in the living room I set about arranging the space in front of the fireplace. I put a pillow on one side, and another in the back with the blanket on top. No cushion was needed on the floor. There was a natural long hair fleece hide on the floor that I swear was about the plushest thing I ever felt. This was a cottage that was clearly used, and someone had thought of everything. I had just started to settle in, when I noticed a well stocked wine rack at the side of the kitchen counter. I hopped up and took a look. It contained an incredible selection of fine European wines, many of them late harvest. I found some delicate looking goblets in the cabinet above and a corkscrew in the drawer right next to the wine cooler. I opened a bottle of Pieroth 1979 Somlo Ausbruch, grabbed a silver tray from the serving rack, and quickly set it up on a low round table beside the fireplace. It was about that time that Chelsea came into the living room. Her face was fresh, without a hint of makeup, not that she needed it. She was a vision, in a white, ankle length, peignoir, obviously very expensive; silk with lace trim that fit every curve perfectly. The lace was designed for maximum effect, though it covered completely. The most striking feature were the puffy nipples that were covered, but left little to the imagination. She tossed a towel down on the rug in front of the fireplace. She took in the scene with a look of approval, and remarked, "I see you like wine." As she settled in on the floor, I busied myself with pouring the wine. I concentrated on the task at hand to distract myself from other thoughts. I could feel that George was already starting to make himself known, and I didn't want him to pop out at this early stage of the adventure. As I handed her the wine glass, I couldn't help but notice that she was looking right at my bulge. She said, "Grab the little table by the couch, and set it to the side where we can enjoy the fire". She reached out with a finely manicured finger and touched the table skirt. A tiny shelf swung out as if under its own power, exposing a set of coasters. She tossed a couple on the table and gave the shelf a tiny push. It retracted again as smoothly as it had opened. Being an engineer, I looked at that and thought, wow, cool! We busied ourselves enjoying the fire and sipping sweet wine. Before long we were getting a little warm, and enjoyed rubbing wine on about everything that tastes good; licking it off. Before long Chelsea adjusted her peignoir, brushed her hair back, and laid her head on the pillow, facing the fire. I lay down behind her and snuggled up. Wrapping her with my arm; my hand came to rest on her left breast. I swear, snuggling up to that beautiful butt, completely wrapped in silk was about the finest thing I've ever experienced. I tried to relax, but my hands had a mind of their own. Soon I was kissing her shoulders and exploring with my mouth. She rolled over on her back and things started to get heavy. I had no problem giving both tits equal attention. I took turns sucking both nipples into my mouth as far as they would go. I had no doubts about the old adage that, the perfect breast is 3.2 cubic mouthfuls. I kissed down her tummy and explored up her skirt. Her panties matched her gown, but they didn't stay on long as I got down to business. I kissed all around her pussy and latched onto her clit as I gently fingered her opening. She was plenty vocal about what she liked. That made it easy for me. She especially liked to be teased open right at the entrance to her vagina. Soon she was very wet all the way down her crack and around her labia. She smelled like heaven and I kept her clit licked clean. I tested the waters, probing at her anus. Carefully I slipped a finger inside teasing it open with her juices. As my finger bottomed out I pushed my thumb into her vagina. I latched on to her clit with my mouth and sucked hard. I lost track of how many orgasms she had; it was more like one continuous orgasm that surged along. After she couldn't take any more, she begged me to fuck her. I climbed on and slowly thrust into her. I was very gentle, although there was no need to be. She was so wet that I could have pushed full length in one hard thrust. I had to be careful to hold back because it was intense. For quite a while we tried every variation of missionary. She told me to lie still without moving. It turned out to be impossible. One of us would always have an involuntary contraction which would prompt a contraction from the other, back and forth; insanely pleasurable, because you could intimately experience the other's pleasure and feelings. Eventually I couldn't take it any more, and I asked her to roll over and put her bottom into the air. The sight of that silk gown covering her ass made me want to rape her. I lifted her skirt just far enough to get in without making a mess, and slowly pushed into her vagina. She was so wet that there was no resistance and I could do anything I wanted. I fucked her slowly; enjoying the vision of my dick disappearing up her skirt. I could not resist the temptation to take her so I backed off and slammed into her a few times. From the sounds she made, she obviously enjoyed it, and she slowly lowered herself down until she was flat on the floor. The sight of her bunched up skirt covering her butt was an intense turn on. I started fucking her harder until I was railing her from behind. After a while I slowed down a bit and got an unexpected response. She hissed, "Fuck me." I started railing her again, but that wasn't enough. She yelled, "Fuck me! Harder!" I hit her harder. Completely unexpectedly, she hissed in an angry voice, "Harder! Hurt me!" I fucked her as hard as I could. Again she screamed, "Hurt me." By that time I was fucking her so hard I was afraid I would injure myself. No more intelligible words came out of her; just noises that were an indication that she was between pain and pleasure. The next thing that I was aware of was that I was completely out of control. There was no doubt that I was going to come inside of her. I could feel it building, and there was no way I could stop. In a few more strokes I started to come. I buried myself as deep as I could until I was totally drained. I collapsed on top of her, and we slowly rolled over on our side facing the fire. I held her, and we stayed coupled until I shrunk down and George fell out on his own. After a while she started to move. She tossed me a box of Kleenex and went to the bedroom. She wasn't gone long, till she came back and sat on the floor in front of me. She patted my dick and laughed. She said, "Oh, I killed the little soldier." She rearranged the pillows for better sleeping advantage and tossed the blanket over me. Then she fiddled with an alarm clock that was under one of the end tables, and crawled in beside me. I held her as we laid there and enjoyed the fire. My hands had a mind of their own and soon I was fiddling with her breasts. She whacked me gently and told me to be still, "We have a lot to do tomorrow. I have to get groceries." I didn't see how that was a big deal, but I kept my mouth shut and went to sleep. "Class is an aura of confidence that is being sure without being cocky. Class has nothing to do with money. Class never runs scared. It is self-discipline and self-knowledge. It's the sure-footedness that comes with having proved you can meet life. " - Ann Landers The next thing I was aware of was Chelsea puttering away in the brightly lit kitchen. It was still dark out, and I noticed that the alarm said it was a little before five AM. She asked me to go to the back of the house and find the big ice chest. I found a big Coleman wheeled cooler in the mud room, and brought it up to the front door. With little apparent effort she put on quite a breakfast spread. We had orange juice, bacon and eggs, muffins, and a fruit compote that looked like a work of art. After we ate breakfast we cleared the table, and she asked me to wash the dishes while she busied herself making sandwiches and putting together other things that looked like a picnic. She dropped everything in the cooler, and told me to hurry up so we could get going. She came over and helped by drying dishes and putting things away. When we had finished she took the bottle of wine from the night before out of the refrigerator, wrapped it in a towel, and put it with a corkscrew into the cooler. Then she took my hand and led me to the back bedroom, saying, "Come on, let's get ready to go". She asked me if I had a swim suit, which I didn't; so she went away and came back with a pair of swim trunks and boat shoes which fit perfectly. She put on a bikini and a light long sleeved blouse and shorts with white tennis shoes. Just as we were headed out the door a very fit looking man with a German accent showed up at the house. She introduced him as Peter, and explained that he was the foreman of the farm. He lived in the old house with his wife Birgit about a half mile up the road. She had pointed out the house on the way in the day before. Her Great Grandfather had built it after the Civil War because General Sherman had burned the original family house to the ground during his western campaign against the Confederacy. The ruins of the original house were still across the meadow from the cottage. She had explained that her family's dairy herd in the meadow produced the finest milk and cheese in this part of the country. Peter asked if she needed anything. She said no, not now, but she wanted Peter to ask George to come down and stow the boat in a couple of days, and Birgit would need to clean the cottage after we were gone. Peter winked at her and told her he had it covered. He asked if she needed help getting the boat down, but she declined, nodding at me and indicating that she had help. Peter and I grabbed the cooler and headed down to the dock. Peter left as soon as we got the cooler to the dock. There was a sizeable boat house up on the lawn next to the dock with a channel cut into it, so a boat could be floated out and tied at the dock. Chelsea unlocked the side doors on the boathouse, and threw open the doors revealing a gleaming sleek looking hi-tech sailboat hanging in a cradle from a rolling crane in the ceiling. She walked down the boathouse deck and flipped two switches. A drawbridge lowered across the channel, connecting the decks on both sides of the boathouse. At the same time a system of levers and pulleys unlocked the end doors on the boathouse and swung them open to the channel. She checked that the boat was free to move, lifted the crane control box off a hook on the wall, and drove the boat out over the water and lowered the boat. Then she crossed over the drawbridge and tied the boat up to a couple of cleats on the deck, fore and aft. She fiddled with a couple of contraptions on the cradle she called pelicans, and one side of the cradle fell into the water. She went back across the drawbridge and lowered the crane some more, then raised it up pulling the cradle all the way out of the water. She drove the crane back to its starting position and lowered the crane to where she could work on the cradle and hooked up the pelicans again. All of this took her only a few minutes. For the first time during this exercise, she looked at me and said, "Be a dear and come over here and help me, please." While I crossed the drawbridge, she walked to the back corner of the boathouse where all kinds of nautical equipment was stowed in racks. We lifted a boat mast and boom with all kinds of rigging attached, and set it in the cradle. She drove the crane across the boat house to the other side, and we crossed the drawbridge, lifted it out and set it on the deck of the boat. She tied it to the railing so the mess would stay out of the way. Then we returned to the racks and brought a couple of sail bags and life vests over and put them in the boat. The line at the aft of the boat was very long, and I was about to learn why. Chelsea ran the long line forward, and looped it around a cleat by the channel doors. Then she untied the boat and refastened it by passing just one loop around an ear of each cleat so they would drop off as the boat moved forward. She tied the ends of the ropes to a railing stanchion on the boat. She flipped the switch raising the drawbridge, opening the channel. Chelsea climbed into the boat. She made sure the rudder was in the right position, and reached through the railing and gave the aft line a flip causing it to drop off of the cleat. Then she gently pulled on the long line, and the boat moved slowly forward. As the boat moved forward the lines in the boathouse dropped off of their cleats. She steered the boat out to the dock and reached through the railing dropping a short line with a loop in the end over a cleat on the dock. Then she stepped off of the boat and tied the forward end to another cleat. I followed her instructions and helped as she attached the rigging to various places on the boat. Then she ran a line through a pulley on the bow, and used a coffee grinder winch to pull the mast upright and attach the last wire to the bow of the boat. It only took a few minutes for her to get the rest of the boat fully rigged, including raising the sails. We stowed the cooler below decks. Then she went back in the boathouse and flipped the switch closing and locking the channel doors. As she left the boathouse she closed and locked the side doors. As we got underway she looked at her watch and remarked that it was only 7:30 in the morning. I had done a little sailing, but had never been on a boat as fancy as this. It danced over the water like a miniature cup racer. I remarked on that, and she told me I was right. It was indeed a one quarter scale model of Dennis Connor's 1987 Stars and Stripes cup racer. It was used in the towing tanks in San Diego to test the design. After Sail America was done with it, her dad purchased it, and had it outfitted as a lake boat. I wondered how big the lake was, as the cottage was at one end of the lake. She told me that it took about four hours to sail the length of the lake. Prior to the Civil War her family had owned the entire valley. After her grandfather dammed the creek, the family had sold parcels along the lake to the rich and famous as the western U.S. opened up. Most of the land upstream of was still owned by her family. They referred to it as the farm but it was huge. The farm was mostly used to raise the finest beef in the country. It was sold to the expensive steak houses across the U.S. Peter was in charge of that operation. As we sailed down the lake we passed beautiful estate homes spaced out at approximately half mile intervals. There were smaller homes set further back. Chelsea explained that the smaller homes were mostly occupied by people who provided services to the community. Eventually we reached an especially large estate that appeared to be a horse breeding farm. Chelsea talked me through dropping the main sail and steered the boat to a dock. She tied the boat up, and walked to the dock entrance. There she pulled several times on a rope that came out of a pipe in the ground. She explained that it was an old fashioned door bell. It rang bells in the barn and in the kitchen of the house. Soon a short powerful looking man with a buzz haircut came down to the dock. As soon as he saw her he broke into a wide grin. "Hi Missy", he said. Chelsea waved back, "Hi Gary", she said. He asked what he could do for her. She asked if he could bring two saddle and one pack horse to the cottage early in the morning. "Sure. Anything else?" Chelsea said one of the saddle horses needed to be well behaved, and could he provide a scabbard on the more spirited one? "No problem", he said. Our business was done there, and we pushed off and headed down the lake again. Soon we came upon what looked like a very small town. Chelsea repeated her ritual of dropping the main sail and tied up at a dock. This time she dropped the jib and we brought the cooler up from below decks. We carried the cooler up a little rise across from the dock that appeared to be a park. We sat down under a huge tree and ate lunch. While we were eating, several people stopped by and chatted. Everyone knew her as either Missy or Chelsea. I gathered that Missy must be her little girl nickname. After lunch, the cooler was almost empty, except for the bottle of wine that had a little left and a bag of dishes and supplies. Chelsea took the bag back to the boat and returned a few minutes later. She said, "Come on lets go shopping." I pulled the cooler along as we headed into town. On the way she quizzed me about what kind of clothes I had at the cottage. Goddess About a block in we turned into a general store. About half the store was a grocery store, and the other half was cluttered with about every supply you could imagine. Chelsea bought a variety of vegetables and dry foods, and then went to the meat counter. There I saw a wide selection of high quality meats and fish. The four footed types, Chelsea said, came mostly from their farm. She selected some beautiful porterhouse steaks and some lamb chops. She asked the man behind the counter to pack the perishables in the cooler with ice, and said we would be back later to pick everything up. Then we headed out of the store and down the street. About a block and a half down we turned into a men's clothing store. There Chelsea bought me jeans and a pair of cowboy boots that fit me perfectly. I felt a little self conscious about the boots, since I had never worn a pair of cowboy boots before. But Chelsea assured me that I would get used to it. They were surprisingly comfortable and I had visions of dancing in a western bar with Chelsea when we got back to school. Next she found a long sleeved but lightweight western shirt, and a down vest. She topped it off with a fedora. By then I was starting to feel like Indiana Jones or something. She asked the sales clerk to bag it up, except for the fedora which she put playfully on my head. I got back into my sailing clothes, and we continued up the street to the edge of town. There we stopped at a tiny cottage where she knocked on the door. A little old lady answered and cried out "Missy!" Chelsea jumped into her arms and they hugged for a long time like lost souls. When they broke their embrace Chelsea introduced her nanny. She said that her Dad had bought her the cottage when Chelsea was old enough to not require supervision. After her visit we headed back to the general store. The manager called the checkout boy to take our things down to the boat. He stowed our things below decks, and wished us well. Chelsea asked me to raise the sails since she was getting tired. By then I had watched her enough times to do it without incident. She asked me to untie the stern and then the bow and give the bow a little push away from the dock as I hopped aboard. The wind had stiffened considerably, and the boat moved more quickly than I expected. I barely made it aboard before we were underway. None-the-less she gave me a well done. With a stiff breeze and no real chop on the lake the boat flew through the water on a close reach. The bow made a continuous hissing noise as it cut through the water. She told me I had better stow the fedora if I didn't want to give it a premature bath in the drink. Before we reached the cottage the rigging was singing like a musical instrument. When the cottage came into view Chelsea tightened up the sails and steered towards the windward side of the lake which was pretty narrow at that point. She asked me to go forward and prepare to drop the jib, and get the bow painter ready. She had to explain that the bow painter was the line that tied the bow of the boat to the dock. I got that sorted out and she told me to drop the jib. By that time we were only about a hundred yards from the dock near the shore of the lake. She told me to stand on the bow with the bow painter as she turned the boat down wind and the boat went screaming past the end of the dock about fifty feet away. As soon as we passed the dock she yelled, "helms a lee," and spun the wheel fast towards the dock and pulled in the main sail. The boat heeled over hard, nearly throwing me into the water. She laughed hysterically as she watched me trying to hold my footing. As she finished a hard U-turn, the main sail luffed, and almost instantly brought the boat to a dead stop with the bow right at the dock. She yelled for me to jump off and tie the bow painter to the nearest cleat, which I did. Then she threw me the stern painter and told me to pull the stern in to the dock and tie it to the other cleat. Meanwhile she controlled the main sail so it wouldn't catch the wind. She hopped off the boat and retied the bow and stern in a much more seaman-like fashion than I did. She supervised the removal and stowing of the sails and all of the other details of tying up the boat at the dock. We brought up our purchases, and she locked the access hatch shut. Chelsea printed a checklist from the house computer, and scurried around the house assembling things that she put near the front door. She packed everything in bags from the checklist. When she was done she had a half dozen bags stuffed full of gear. Then she went into the office and came out with a Winchester lever action rifle and a box of bullets. She opened up the action and checked down the barrel holding it up to the light. Then she took it out on the porch and cycled some cartridges through it, and dry fired it with a cartridge she called a snap cap. She fully loaded the weapon and took it and the box of ammo back to the office. That evening both of us were dead tired, so we ate a light dinner, cleaned up and went to bed. I tried to start something, but she laughed and told me that I was a horny, just like all men. I did my best to start something, but fell asleep before I got very far. I was dead to the world until .... .... "You might as well expect the rivers to run backward as that any man who was born free should be contented to be penned up and denied liberty to go where he pleases." ― Chief Joseph, Nez Perce (Nimiputimt) Five AM in the morning. I heard pots and pans banging. Chelsea was deliberately making a lot of noise with the bedroom door open to get my adrenaline going. She was fully dressed and bright eyed; dressed in her western clothes. She told me breakfast was almost ready, and to shower and get my new clothes on; "Quickly Doode." Gary will be here soon. When I came out of the bedroom she had just set breakfast on the kitchen table. We sat down and ate quickly. It was just after six AM when Gary pulled his big Ford pickup truck behind the cottage with a horse trailer in tow. Chelsea asked me to clean up the breakfast dishes as she hurried out to meet Gary. By the time I got outside, the horses were tied up to a hitching rail beside the house, and Gary and Chelsea were loading the pack horse. There was a pack saddle with huge canvass bags attached. They were loading gear in both sides being careful to keep the weight evenly distributed. There was even a cooler with perishables, although it was smaller than the one we took on the boat. When they were done Gary set about lacing up the bags, and finished by tying a tarp over the top of the whole thing. Chelsea went inside and got the Winchester and ammo. She checked the safety and dropped it into the scabbard, closing a weather protector over the top. She dropped the ammo box into one of the saddle bags. There was still a bunch of stuff by the front door, like canteens knives jackets, and rain gear. She brought those out and distributed them between the saddle horses. She told me to get my hat, and she headed into the house and came back wearing a sexy looking cowgirl hat. Gary asked where we were headed. Chelsea said we were headed up the ridge at Pilot Knob and over to the old Ouachita Indian campground. Gary told her to just leave the horses in the dairy meadow when we get back, and leave the saddles over the hitching rail. Chelsea saluted him with a touch of her brim and he set about getting ready to leave. Chelsea untied the pack horse and tied the leader to her saddle. Then she helped me get saddled up, and gave me a few pointers on holding the reins and controlling my horse. Then she untied her horse, pulled the slack out of her reins around the saddle horn, and swung up into the saddle in one fluid motion. She adjusted her reigns and her hat. "Ready?" she turned to me and said. Then she tapped her horse lightly with her feet and made a clicking noise. The horses took off at a brisk walk down the side of the house and around the corner. We rode across the back lot towards the woods. As we entered the woods we started up a gradual incline on a well used trail. The horses slowed to a walk. I was relieved. I found the short ride from the house jarring, although Chelsea's horse seemed more fluid, almost cat like. In the hundred yard ride I had already started to worry about the condition of my butt by the end of the ride. As if she could read my thoughts, she said, "You should find this more comfortable. Gary brought me the walker, but you have a quarter-horse." Neither of us seemed to have anything more to say, so we settled in for a long ride at a diagonal up the ridge. The woods opened up along the edges occasionally, affording glimpses of well manicured farm land below. When we reached the top of the ridge the woods opened up. We were looking down on a wide valley, neatly checker-boarded with crops and grazing pastures that were populated with very healthy looking Herford cattle. In the center of the valley was a large complex of barns and hay storage shelters. Chelsea commented that all of it belongs to her family, and that was the reason she was majoring in business and finance at LSU. She said that when she finished her double major, she would probably get her masters at Texas A&M. We continued down the other side of the ridge in the same general direction with a few switchbacks. At the last switchback there was a spring in the hillside. The spring had been capped, and there was a pipe that ran continuously into a concrete watering trough. Squirrels headed for the woods as we approached. We stood down and let the horses drink their fill. After a few minutes we saddled up and rode the last little way down to the valley. We followed trails and roads that skirted the edges of fields until we arrived at the barnyard of the big complex. As soon as we rode in, several people shouted greetings to Chelsea. We rode over to a water trough next to a windmill. This time Chelsea didn't dismount she just let the horses drink a little while as she waited. Peter came out and said, hi; then groused a little bit about Gary letting his horses graze in the dairy meadow. Chelsea made no comment, just wished him a nice day, and we rode out of the barnyard to continue across the valley. Before long I realized that we were coming up on a fast moving highway. It must have been the one that we took on the drive up from LSU. She reined in about a quarter of a mile from the highway, and lectured me about not letting my horse enter the highway until she did. Then I was to keep my horse moving and stay right behind her. I told her that was no problem, as I had visions of becoming a giant man-horse road pizza. We crossed the road without incident and after crossing a creek, soon arrived at the edge of the woods where the trail headed up again. This trail was a good deal steeper than the previous one. There were lots of switchbacks, and the horses frequently breathed hard although they barely slowed down. In a little over an hour we made the ridge. We were treated by a vast panorama of forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. Chelsea turned her horse up the ridge and we rode east on the gently sloping ridge. At that point I felt like we were really in the middle of nowhere, but Chelsea seemed to be unbothered. A little bit to the north, and far ahead, I could see a large mountain rising out of the valley. It seemed to be connected by a saddle to the ridge we were riding on. Chelsea said we were headed down to the base of the mountain. After a while the ridge trail leveled out and then headed down slightly. The morning chill had worn off, and it was starting to get uncomfortably warm. Chelsea wrapped a bandana around her neck, and I ditched my vest into one of the saddle bags. We rode for about another half hour along the ridge. Then Chelsea turned off on a side trail that went down much more steeply along the north side of the ridge. This trail was much narrower and the slope was heavily forested. We had to dodge overhanging branches and go around frequent obstructions in the trail. On the plus side the temperature dropped about ten degrees within a few minutes. We rode generally north east down the slope with frequent switchbacks. Eventually we leveled out near the bottom of the slope. I got the feeling that we were in a valley near water. Although you couldn't see very far through the heavy forest . Chelsea pointed out poison ivy in its various forms and told me to stay away from it. It was about one thirty in the afternoon when I sensed that we were gradually turning towards the left. We came to a creek that we crossed, and rode up the other bank. As soon as we crested the poison ivy infested bank, we were greeted by a meadow with a huge rock outcrop at the far end. Chelsea said that this was the headwaters of the creek. We rode around the edge of the meadow, crossing frequent rivulets that flowed down the bank to the creek. When we got to the rock outcrop there was a well established camp ground with fire rings and a big metal box near the entrance. There wasn't another soul anywhere so we had the place to ourselves. Chelsea said that you could get here in about a half an hour from the other side of the mountain, but riding in on horseback was a lot more fun. We tied the horses to a hitching rail at the metal box and we unloaded all of the food into it. We saddled up and Chelsea led us to a campsite under a huge rock overhang at the base of the outcrop. She tied up the horses and we unloaded all of the gear and saddles at the campsite. Then she changed the horses' bridles to halters and tied their front legs together with a short length of rope, and turned them loose to wander. She got out a can of Off insect repellent, and sprayed me down. Then I did the same for her. She got out a hatchet, a saw , and a big knife. She gave me the saw and told me to keep the blade pointed away from us. In about a half an hour we had enough firewood to last the night plus some. Then we went down to the creek where we cut massive quantities of willow branches with the leaves attached. Then she set about camp setting up the tent and putting everything in its place. The cooking utensils and dishes ended up next to a fire pit in a bowl shaped depression that had natural seating on big boulders. The fire wood was neatly stacked with the willow branches near the fire pit. I was starting to feel famished, since it was mid afternoon, and we hadn't had lunch. She acknowledged that we should have stopped back on the ridge for lunch. But it was too late now, so she said we should hurry up and get camp set up and have an early dinner. We rolled out our sleeping bags and put everything in the tent that made sense. We started a fire in the pit. Then walked back down to the metal box, she called it a bear box, and got out dinner. She pulled out two large potatoes and told me to take them down to the creek and cover them with a good layer of mud. I thought that was strange, but didn't want to appear stupid, so I went down to the creek and found a place where a meadow rivulet had made a big muddy patch and rolled them around in the mud. I set them aside on a rock and washed my hands in the creek. Then I carried them back to the fire carrying them with two fingers and trying not to fall and bust my ass getting up the stream bank. When I got there she looked at my handy work and told me to set them on a rock next to the fire. Then she gave me a bucket and asked me to go fill it with clean water. She went back to chopping green beans and onions into a cast iron skillet. When I got back the fire had burned way down, and there was a bed of embers in the pit. She told me to drop the potatoes in the coals and cover them up. Then she told me to toss some more small dry sticks on top. We dragged over a big heavy metal grate and dropped it over the fire pit. By that time she had finished seasoning the steaks with salt and pepper. She got out an old coffee pot and filled it with water from the bucket, and threw in some coffee grounds. Then she set it on the edge of the fire grate. We sat back and enjoyed the fire for a while. Then she got up and put the steaks on a plate, and cut off some fat from the steaks, and put it in the fry pan with the vegetables. She set the fry pan on the grate and stirred it with her knife until it started making sizzling noises. Then we sat back and enjoyed the fire some more. After while she moved the fry pan to the edge, and told me to bring some more small sticks and a couple of medium sticks. I pried up the edge of the grate with the medium sticks, and she tossed in the small sticks. We put down the grate and in seconds there was a blazing fire. She thumped the top of the grill a few times with a rag, and threw on the steaks. She sat back on her haunches for a few minutes, and then took her knife and flipped the steaks. She told me to put some water in a pot. Then she fished the potatoes out to the edge of the pit with a long green willow branch. She told me to snatch the potatoes out onto the ground. I burned my fingers on the potatoes, and then burned the tops of my arms on the grate when I jumped back. She said she was sorry, but I could tell she was barely suppressing a laugh. I told her she was evil, and she laughed out loud. Slightly miffed, I told her to fish them out. She wrapped the rag tightly around her hand and fished them out without even getting my help with the grate. She tossed them in the water and washed them off while I nursed my bruised ego. She lopped the side of the potatoes off with her knife and set them on plates. Then she probed the steaks with her knife and pronounced them done to perfection. She speared them with her knife and dropped them on the plates. Then she split the vegetables between the two plates, and set the skillet off to the edge of the fire. She poured coffee, she called camp mud, into a couple of tin cups. Then she probed into the potatoes with the tip of a fork and poured the grease from the skillet into them. We sat back and enjoyed what I swear was the best meal I ever ate. We killed the last of the Somlo Ausbruch. Just as we finished dinner, mosquitoes started swarming everywhere. We moved the dishes off the grate and pulled the grate off to the side. Then she built a big fire in the pit. I helped her throw willow branches into the fire. Soon the entire valley was filled with smoke. She let the fire burn down a little and dragged the grate back over the fire. There wasn't a sign of a mosquito anywhere. She tossed out the potato washing water, and refilled the pot with fresh water and set it on the fire. When it was nearly boiling we used it to wash the dishes. She put everything in its place, dragged the grate from the fire, and set the coffee pot on a rock at the edge of the pit where it would stay hot. Then we settled down to enjoy the fire the way that nature intended. I sat with my back to a rock, and she sat between my legs wrapped in my arms. I explored her breasts with my hands while she closed her eyes and held my forearms. We stayed that way for several hours, until the mosquitoes started coming back with a vengeance; then we retired to the safety of the tent. We were both being eaten alive as we dove into the tent. Chelsea immediately spun around and zipped the door down tight. She pushed a zipper flap into the corner and sealed it with Velcro tabs. We were now sealed off from the outside world. She hung a LED flashlight with a tiny bulb from a D ring in the roof of the tent. My eyes quickly adjusted to the feeble light. It was then I realized that the inside of the tent was still swarming with mosquitoes. I smacked at them as they landed on every exposed patch of skin and started biting. Goddess Chelsea grabbed the can of Off, and started spraying every exposed surface of the tent and everything in the tent. It was as effective at killing mosquitoes as repelling them. In no time there was no sign of a tormenter anywhere. She kicked off her boots. After rolling out two sleeping pads on the floor, Chelsea pulled out one of those thick, Coleman sleeping bags. She unzipped it all the way and laid it out flat. Then she unzipped the other bag and hooked them together to make a double bed. She opened a window with a netted screen at each end of the tent. I felt a hint of a light breeze through the tent. That was a relief. It was already starting to feel stuffy in the tent. Immediately a few more mosquitoes started buzzing around the tent. Chelsea fogged them with Off. Chelsea stripped off her blouse and jeans. She wasn't wearing the silk underwear that she had treated me to the last few evenings. But she obviously liked Victoria's Secret. She was wearing a very sexy smooth cup sports bra that conformed to her every curve. Tiny pink dots highlighted her shape. She was wearing a pair of black cotton boyshort panties. The effect was devastating. I wanted to attack her. As soon as she started taking her blouse off, I raced to strip down, and threw my shirt and jeans against the side of the tent. While she was off balance, I put my arm across the front of her shoulders and pushed her back onto the sleeping bags. I dove over her and started planting little kisses on her lips. She was more than willing to let me get started, but I soon discovered that I was not in charge tonight. She put her hand against one of my shoulders and pushed, rolling me onto my back as she rolled over on top. She scooted up and buried her cleavage in my face. No problem; I kissed along the edge of her bra, nuzzling as far down into her bra as I could go. She let me have access that way for a few minutes. Then she reached behind and popped her bra, and stripped it off. She immediately pushed a little farther forward and fed me a nipple. Boy did I enjoy that. But she clearly enjoyed it more. She fed her tits to me alternately, forcing them hard into my mouth. She tasted slightly salty, but I didn't mind. As I latched on hard she made little mewing sounds. It didn't take her long to get really hot. She spun around and pulled my dick out, and I dove into her pussy. She wasn't all fresh and clean, like the first night, but that was just fine. We didn't take our time like we did before. The objective here was to get down to business. She was really good at sucking dick. I nearly lost it several times. Every time she did that, it made me yelp, and she immediately backed off. Soon I was hard as a rock. She scooted forward and sat up, reverse cowgirl style. She rotated her hips back so I had a nice view, and expertly positioned my dick and pushed. I bottomed out on the first push. I never have been able to understand how girls make that seem so easy. I guess since it's their body they instinctively know just the right position. I hadn't thought to bring protection, but she didn't seem to mind. She took her time leaning forward with her hands on my knees while I thrust up into her and enjoyed the view. Then she sat back and swung her leg around and rotated 180 degrees without pulling out. With her clit against my pubic bone she got down to business. She was like a lithe cat as she concentrated on grinding her clit against me. She rarely lifted up, but when she did I enjoyed watching myself thrust up into her. She leaned forward giving me access to her tits. After she had her pleasure, she took charge. I felt her clamp down hard and grind forward and back. She was clearly going to finish this. I could feel her cervix pressed down against me. A wave of orgasm flowed over her. There was no way I could control myself. I exploded inside of her as she collapsed over on top of me. I pushed up a few more times, and she sharply told me, no more. We laid together until she rolled off. We settled into an afterglow, and fell asleep quickly. Early in the morning she awoke with a start. I didn't hear anything, but her every nerve was on edge. She pulled on her shoes, and dragged the Winchester out of its scabbard as she exited the tent. I put on my shoes and followed. She was about fifty yards ahead of me moving down the trail towards the creek. I heard her whistle; loud like only a country girl can do it with her fingers in her mouth. I heard a loud crash and breaking sticks moving away. She turned around and headed back in my direction. I asked, "What was that?" She said, "Just a bear looking for an easy meal." We went back to bed, and she slept in my arms until the crack of dawn. She got up and fixed breakfast in the fry pan, with the same efficiency as the night before. The coffee was just reheated on the grate and seemed about the same. We brought the horses in and got them saddled and packed. We were on the trail home before eight in the morning. The ride back seemed to go quickly. Maybe it was because I had some idea of where we were going this time. Although I don't know that I would have found all the trail turn-offs without Chelsea. As we rode down the last ridge I caught glimpses of the lake and then the cottage through the trees. As we approached the edge of the trees I felt like something was wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Then .... .... "History is written by the rich, and so the poor get blamed for everything." ― Jeffrey D. Sachs I realized that there was another car in the driveway. It was also a BMW, but black and expensive looking, unlike Chelsea's silver 325is. I had never seen a BMW like that. It was big and powerful looking, angular and muscular, like it was designed to make a statement. As we tied the horses at the hitching rail, Chelsea's parents came out to meet us. I instantly knew it was her parents. Chelsea was a carbon copy of her mother, except that Chelsea was maybe an inch taller, and her mother barely showed hints of her age. We went through the usual round of introductions. I got the impression that her mother was miffed about something. When I looked at Chelsea her face was flushed bright red. We unloaded and unsaddled the horses and turned them loose on the meadow as Gary had asked. On the way back to the house Chelsea suggested that I take a shower. Chelsea and Allison went in the front bedroom. As I walked down the hallway my face flushed bright red. I realized that the front bedroom was her parents' room. I took a shower hoping that things would be normal when I came out. I was not to be so lucky. When I walked past the bedroom door I could hear Allison yelling at her. I exited the house to find Charles putting the saddles up on the rail. I was wearing the boots and fedora that Chelsea bought me. When I saw her dad I felt my face flush bright red again. He looked at me with a wry grin. "Don't worry son, I'm sure you didn't have anything to do with it. She invaded her mom's personal space, and now she'll have to pay the piper. The worst thing is her mom had never even worn that thing yet." My face flushed an even brighter shade of red. We busied ourselves unpacking and putting things away. We chatted about LSU, and what we had done since arriving. Of course I didn't discuss any of the sexy parts. Allison came out, and seemed somewhat less frosty than before. She discussed what we might do for dinner. I mentioned the lamb chops that we had brought back on the sailboat, and she seemed pleased by that. A while later Chelsea showed up. She was freshly showered, but that didn't mask the fact that she had been crying. She helped put away what remained of the gear, and remarked that I was handy to have around. She spun my fedora sideways as she said it. I flushed red again at the perceived double entendre'. Charles caught that and gurgled; nearly choked himself stifling a laugh. Allison turned on her heel and walked in the house; announcing that she was going to start dinner. After she was out of ear shot he doubled himself over the rail laughing. Chelsea beat him over the back with her fists, whispering, "shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" Well, I guess everyone was cool except her mother. Dinner was wonderful. It was obvious where Chelsea got her cooking skills. Charles selected a Pinot Noir. With four people around the table, it didn't take three days to kill that bottle. After dinner we enjoyed a fire. As the fire banked down Chelsea announced that it was past her bedtime. We walked to the back bedroom together. As soon as the door closed, she grabbed the peignoir and panties off of the bed, and threw them in the trash can with such venom that I thought they would go through the floor. I expected her to be upset when she turned around, but she had an evil grin on her face. "Birgit will enjoy that." She mouthed the words, "Let's fuck." The sex was cathartic but we had to be careful not to slam any headboards or cry out. After breakfast the next morning we said our goodbyes and headed back to LSU. "Whether life finds us guilty or not guilty, we ourselves know we are not innocent." ― Sándor Márai, Judit... és az utóhang Back at LSU I tried to maintain our relationship. She seemed a little distant, and I chalked it up to residual tension over the nightgown affair. After all whether I was an unwitting participant or not, I was involved. I decided to wait a few weeks and let it rest. I called her apartment a few times and left messages on the answering machine with no response. Finally I stopped by and saw her roommate. She was tense, and told me that Chelsea had gone home unexpectedly. I put two and two together. Sitting on my bed my world was spinning, and I thought my head would explode. There was only one reason she would leave school at that time. I had gotten her pregnant. A marriage was not in her cards, so she was forced to go home to her dad. Her dad might have found it amusing that I got caught in a spat between his wife and daughter, but I was sure he would have no patience for someone who screwed up his daughter's life. I felt like shit. A short time later, Chelsea showed up at school again. She was very cool towards me after that. I realized I had been her boy toy. There was no point in further discussion, so I moved on. Goddess Tonight he would be hers. He'd been looking at her for weeks. His gaze roving over her body, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Those dark blue eyes resting on her tempting lips - glittering with want - but he still hadn't done anything about it. Each night she'd gone home to her vibrator: wet, ready and frustrated. She'd had enough; she wanted the real thing. Clenching her thighs together, she tried to tame the pulse between her legs. She thought about his heat, his hard cock and his lean muscular body pounding into her hard and fast. She shivered and licked her lips. It was time for her to take control of this situation. Her nipples hardened just thinking about what she wanted him to do to her body. Her heart rate increased when she contemplated making him do it. Maybe this was the start of something she hadn't even realised she wanted? Taking a deep breath she walked towards him. The bar was loud and dark; crowded with the usual people celebrating the start of the weekend. That could work in her favour. Her eyes locked onto his; she was pleased to see his widen slightly. Good - the element of surprise was on her side. His gaze stroked her breasts and paused on her nipples that were trying to poke their way through her silk blouse. A familiar ache began down low, accompanied by a sudden slickness between her legs as she made her way towards him. God - she wanted him! As she reached him he turned to shelter her from the jostling crowd. She stepped backwards into a dimly lit alcove, stopping when she felt the wall against her back. The music and voices were muted here. They looked at each other for a moment, cocooned in this small, quiet space, and she could sense he understood this was no ordinary meeting. He looked a little wary but she could see the excitement in his eyes. "Come here." She tugged lightly on his loose turquoise tie, pulling him towards her. There was no resistance. The subtle citrusy tang of his aftershave made her mouth water. He'd opened the first few buttons of his shirt revealing a tantalising glimpse of his smooth tanned chest. Her fingertips tingled with need. He rested a hand on the wall by her head and leaned down towards her in supplication. Feeling his warm breath on her neck, she sighed with pleasure. Tilting her head towards him, she heard his breath catch as she took her first taste of him. Her hot, wet tongue licked from the dip at his collar bone, slowly but surely up the taut smooth line of his neck into his sharp stubble. He was delicious: a little salty and sweetly addictive. She licked him again. Drawing back slightly, she was satisfied to see goose bumps following the line she had just taken. The pulse beating in his neck matched the merciless lust pounding through her own body. Her skin prickled with the need to be touched; her breasts full and heavy, wanting to be squeezed, sucked, licked. Nothing else existed now. Grabbing his hand, she pressed it to her breast, showing him what she wanted - what she craved. Her eyes closed. She forgot to breath as the shock of his first hot touch went rushing through her body. He shaped and plumped her breast - his index finger and thumb circling and pulling her nipple. She parted her lips. He was breathing hard, but kept working her breast as he leant forward. Those dark eyes needy and burning. Diving into his thick, wavy hair, she pulled him the final few millimetres, sweeping her tongue into his mouth. She took advantage of his gasp to thrust into his mouth, over and over, a primal rhythm that rapidly consumed them both. Every stroke of his tongue only increased the ache between her legs. She clenched her bottom and rolled her hips, desperate for some friction to relieve the hurt. She knew what she wanted. Breathing hard into his mouth she looked into his eyes as she took his hand and shoved it up her skirt, spreading her legs to give him room to please her. "Touch me. Fuck me. Make me come!" She whispered fiercely against his lips, gripping the back of his neck. Pupils dilated, he worked quickly, his long, thick fingers frantically tugged her g-string to the side and plunged into the hot, drenched centre of her body. She held onto his strong forearm, feeling the muscles flex as he fucked into her. Her pussy was so swollen and tight. Every sweet drag in and out made her moan. "Shit! Oh god...I want..." The words floated away as sensation took over. "Tell me! Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you." "I want to come, hard... I want you to watch me." She panted. "Yes. God, yes! I want to see you." He whispered reverently. He leant back slightly to adjust his angle so he could rub her swollen clit with his thumb while his fingers worked deep inside her. Nothing had ever felt this good. Every muscle in her body tensed, straining for her orgasm. "Yes!" She hissed. "I'm so close... right there... oh god, yes!" Vaguely, she registered digging her nails into his neck. Her head flew back, thudding against the wall, as her orgasm shot through her. His fingers never stopped; they kept fucking her until she closed her legs and twisted away, too sensitive to take any more. Slowly, she opened her heavy eyes to see him watching her intently as he withdrew his fingers. She could hear the familiar beat of her favourite song as her surroundings came back into focus. Raising his hand to taste her nectar, she licked and sucked his fingers clean. "I'm going to take you home and fuck you, hard." "Thank god! Yes." He moaned. Tonight, he was hers.