The Lake Cottage

A hint of fall was in the crisp cool air as she walked from the cottage to the lake. A light breeze blew across it from the pass between two mountains to the west. It was midmorning and she was aware of the juxtaposition of nature's gifts. On the one hand, the morning sun warmed her bare back and cheeks, whilst the cool air caressed her face, her breasts, stomach and her glistening lips peeking out from the soft downy patch of blonde pubic hair. She felt like invisible fingers were moving over her naked body and a shiver ran through her from deep inside.

As she lifted her hands to sweep her long blonde hair behind her ears, her fingers brushed across her now erect nipples and sent electric sparks coursing through her svelte body. She stopped for a second and looked up into a dazzling clear blue sky. Moving east to west, she saw twin vapor contrails etching sharp lines across the cobalt canvas disappearing into and emerging from the large white cloud racing across the sky. Her thoughts drifted to the night before his squadron departed for London. A night filled with a different type of disappearing and emerging. They had made love for hours. As the memories flooded back and washed over her, she felt a shudder surge through her body that ended in a soft moan escaping across her lips. As she remembered the promise of that night, a single tear formed in the corner of each eye.

Her attention drew across the lake to the tree line that ran down to the opposite shore. She stopped and waited, rewarded by the sight of a buck and his doe making their way to the clear water's edge to drink. He seemed to nudge his mate and motion towards her frozen form standing across the lake from them. It was as though they held her spellbound in their gaze and could feel her pain. A murder of crow rose into the air and startled the deer and they made a hasty retreat back into the woods. The birds rose into the air and circled low over the lake. The sound of their cawing sent cold shivers through Sam like some premonition of death.

She was released from their gaze and became aware of the hardness of her nipple as she absentmindedly rolled it between her fingers. Her other hand slid down her taut abdomen and she felt the wetness growing between her legs as her fingers parted the tingling lips. Once again, her fingers became his fingers, intent on a single purpose. She closed her eyes and became lost in the smell and touches of their last night together. Her fingers moved to her full lips and her tongue tasted the sweetness of her nectar glistening in the light of the morning on her fingertips. Her scent filled her senses as her tongue slowly curled around her fingers. She began to tremble as the memory of his lean body against hers began to take shape in her mind. His scent replaced hers on her fingertips. Her fingers traced the outline of his shoulders as they moved together. Her nipples pressed into his chest as their lips met in a deep slow kiss. As her arms enclosed around his neck, she felt his lips kiss a path from her shoulder to her ear and back again.

The morning he flew out from the aerodrome, they had embraced like this. She could still feel his warm breath make its way to her ear as she lingered in his arms. His scent mixed with the smell of leather from his flight jacket. He was a volunteer from America flying with the RAF against the Germans. She was a widow, her husband a casualty of the air battle that had been raging over Britain for almost a year. As fate would have it, he was assigned to her husband's squadron. The American's prowess in combat had gained him acceptance by his comrades, if not forgiveness by all for the developing relationship with Samantha.

He whispered in his southern drawl, "I love you, Darling, please don't worry. I promise, I'll return to you."

He had kissed Sam hard and without another word turned and walked to the idling Spitfire. The roar of the Rolls-Royce engines shattered the quiet morning. As they taxied to take off, their propellers directed a cloud of dust in her direction. One by one, the eight planes rose and circled the field until all were aloft. They formed up into a tight formation and turned to the east, silhouetted against the rising sun. She stood there until the drone of the engines faded and they disappeared into the glare of bright sunlight.

The days had turned into weeks, the weeks into months. Britain was hanging by a thread and her beloved was wound into that fiber. The news came daily from London. The RAF was engaged in an epic battle with the Luftwaffe, the outcome of which might decide the war. They flew three sorties a day against the waves of bombers that Hitler threw against them. The number of enemy planes increased each day until it seemed like they lived in the air. The intelligence received from the French underground pointed to a big push in the next day or two.

Pete Peterson had risen early that morning. His sleep had been interrupted by dreams of Sam. They were filled with images of swimming naked and making love at the lake cottage. Their relationship had raised a few eyebrows among the squadron and resentment with some. The cottage provided them with the privacy to live and love removed from prying eyes. He could still taste her; feel the softness of her body next to his as they lay in the grass letting the sun warm them. They knew that the moments were stolen and each one grew more precious. The soft kisses and gentle touches were the prelude to the passion and lust that always followed. His dreams had left him with a desire that could only be quenched in Sam's arms. As he sat on the porch of the barracks, he stared out into the morning fog. The mists and shadows became more distinct in his mind. As his lips moved over her body, he could feel her warmth and taste her taste. Her hands ran through his hair as she lifted her hips and pressed his lips to her lips. It began slowly, building, and then burning. His hands moved to her hips and his tongue parted her lips. Her scent and taste seemed to call to him like some Siren's song. Their melody began to form, a duet punctuated by the rising and falling of her slender hips and the deep probing of his tongue. Their song took shape. Each movement building on the last until it seemed like it ripped through her body in a crescendo of ecstasy and blinding light. Her fingers clenched his hair, her hips rose in sublime surrender, and her voice joined their song as wave after wave washed over her leaving her spent as the coda faded away.

A voice brought Pete out of his reverie. "You're up early, Flight Lieutenant?" Wesley Carrington queried. Carrington had been the best man at Sam's wedding and was her husband's best friend.

"Yeah, Wesley, I couldn't sleep. I guess I just have some things I need to work out." Pete responded.

"Well, old chap, I need your head in the game today. Intel says we can expect a big push today." Carrington added.

"I'll be ready, Flight Leader, don't worry." Pete offered.

"You better be, Peterson, people are depending on you. That's the problem with you Yanks. You come over here like it's a game, but this is people's lives you're playing with." the Englishman practically spit the words out.

"Why don't you just say it, Carrington, this isn't about the mission today. It chaps your fucking ass that Sam chose me and not you after Doug was killed." Pete countered.

"You, presumptuous lout, Sam is a lady and you treat her like some common whore for your enjoyment. You knew she was vulnerable after Doug's death and you seduced her.," he answered angrily.

Suddenly, the air raid siren sounded and both men rose, glared at each other and started towards their airplanes. They were joined by six other pilots to complete the section. The squadron had been relocated to Biggin Hill on the south side of London and played a primary role in the defense of the city. The Spitfires taxied in a group to the runway and roared into the morning fog. They rose above the mist and turned towards the east and the Channel. They climbed as quickly as possible in order to gain maximum altitude. The German bombers would approach out of the rising sun and if they could reach a higher altitude, then the enemy would be framed against the land below. The radio crackled with updates on the enemy's position and the flight maintained radio silence. They reached the desired altitude and headed on an intercept course. Fifteen minutes after takeoff, the RAF pilots detected the fighter screen escorting the German bombers. Carrington assigned Pete and two other pilots to engage the fighters, while the rest of the flight attacked the bombers. Pete wiggled his wings in acknowledgement and began a steep dive towards the fighters. He knew this would be tough one since they were outnumbered five to one. Success would depend on surprise and the ensuing chaos. Their luck held and the enemy did not see them until their tracers ripped through the first three Messerschmitt 109's, sending them spiraling in flames towards the ground. Pete pulled back on the stick, pushed the throttle to full and kicked the rudder sending his plane into a climbing turn to approach the startled Germans from beneath. Once again, tracers closed the rapidly decreasing distance between them and three more Germans fell to the earth. The ferocity of the attack sent the remaining enemy scrambling to recover their advantage. The odds had evened at three to one. Just then, the bomber formation reached the dogfight and the air was filled with aircraft and tracers. Pete rolled to his left to avoid two Dorniers and flew into the attack angle of Carrington's Spitfire. His plane shuddered as tracers hit his engine and canopy. Oil flew from the manifold and began to streak across the canopy. A Messerschmitt appeared on his six and Pete snapped rolled into a steep dive for the deck. He leveled off just above the waves in the Channel and began a series of evasive maneuvers as the German jockeyed for position. His Spitfire was hit again and he felt the control surfaces tear away. Suddenly, there was an explosion behind him and as he turned, he saw the Messerschmitt disintegrate in a ball of fire. His wingman, Bradley Simon, wiggled his wings as his Spitfire zoomed past. Pete was barely twenty feet above the Channel when his engine seized up and flames began to creep towards the cockpit. With little other choice, he began a controlled ditch into the cold waters. The Spitfire bounced along the surface until it settled into the choppy sea.

It had been six days since Carrington had delivered the news of Pete's crash. With each passing day, her hope for his survival had waned. Sam began to believe her heart would break once again, this time not to survive. Each morning she rose and made her way to the small pier on the lake to await what tidings the day might bring. She remembered the countless times they had made love there. A noise across the lake drew her attention to it. As she peered across the mirror-like surface of the water, she saw a single vapor contrail crossing its sky blue reflection. As she watched, the pair of deer emerged again from the tree line and made their way to the water's edge. It seemed an eternity that she was held in their gaze. She could never recall afterwards when she first became aware of his hands resting tenderly on her shoulders. She only remembered his voice.

"Hi, Darling, I told you I would come back." Pete whispered as his lips settled on her bare shoulder.

As Sam turned to look into his cobalt eyes, she exclaimed, "Oh my God, you're alive!"

He laughed softly and replied, "Apparently, no thanks to the Luftwaffe. I love you, Sam."

Her recollection dissolved into feverish kisses and half-naked embraces. Once more, they lay in the cool grass and made slow passionate love. His kisses made their way down her shoulder and settled over her hard nipple. Her hands ran through his hair as she pressed his lips to her tingling breast. His hand parted her quivering thighs and felt her growing wetness. A soft moan escaped her lips as he parted her swollen ones. They kissed and touched savoring the moment. She rose from the grass and rolled Pete onto his back. Her lips made their way down his body and closed around his stiff staff. Now, moans passed across his lips as she devoured him. She could taste and feel the life flowing from him. His gaze was locked on hers as she began to move up his torso. Rising above him, she lowered her wet pussy until the tip of his cock nestled between her quivering lips. Smiling, she began to move up and down his body. Her hard nipples dragged across his bare chest as her clit rubbed the underside of his engorged member. Their movements became more rhythmic until she rose and lowered herself on his throbbing member. She felt his hips rise from the grass and he entered her completely.

The slow deep movement began to build, rising and falling. His hands caressed her breasts, pinched her nipples as she began to grind against him. She arched back and began to move harder, deeper. Her head swayed from side to side as her hips began a circling movement over Pete. Rising and falling, circling and grinding, they began to make love in earnest. Sam could feel it building deep inside of her, crying for release. She felt Pete's body began to tremble beneath her, his hands gripping her hips. Her hands settled on his chest and she began to slam against his pelvis. The tingling grew, became a tremble as she rose and fell hard against him. The tremble became a shudder as her orgasm seized her body. Sam fell forward, her lips finding Pete's lips. They kissed deeply as they came together. Her moans mingled with his cries. She could feel him pulse into her, filling her with a hot, molten ejaculation. Her lips clenched his cock as she milked each drop. Sam fell against him spent.

"Welcome home, Pete, I love you too." Sam whispered in his ear.