The Lake House

The air was hushed, nearly silent as it blew across the surface of the land and the lake. It was warm with a chilly aftertaste, like many late summer mornings have. Frogs croaked, crickets chirped, and birds sang, mixing together to form a natural melody that was beautiful to the ears. She sat on the deck overlooking the water, sipping at a cup of peppermint hot chocolate with her laptop in front of her opened to an empty Word document.

It was the woman's first morning at her lake house. Quinn had arrived the night before, rushing to get out of the cold rain, and had hardly been able to marvel at the beauty of the area. Everything was green, even in the early morning when the light was barely coming from the sunrise. It was the type of place that she knew would inspire her to start writing her memoir, something that she had been planning to do even while she was in college, but had never had the mindset to actually complete.

So there she sat, staring at the tinted screen. Quinn lacked inspiration, even now, and she cursed in her mind. She had been able to write at any given second when she was young, but as she'd grown older, that ability had slowly faded away. Now she would have to rush to write down key phrases to remember ideas in the middle of the day, reveling in the pools of ideas that would come to her mind at the worst possible times—in the middle of the day, teaching her second grade class how to multiple simple numbers or reading through a book with the students in the college classes she taught at night. And then once she got home, Quinn hardly had the time or energy to sit down and pour her soul into anything, much less a story. So was the life of a working person.

As she sat there, she wondered where she should start. Her life had not been all that interesting, but publishers wanted to hear, or rather read, about it, so she'd agreed as long as they gave her a while to do it. She had the idea to do it through stream of consciousness writing, as to give the readers an even deeper look into her mind. So she began typing, as to create an authentic flow.

When you're writing a story, you have to give your characters a realistic background, so the reader can understand where the character is coming from in the way that they speak, or the way that they act, the things that they do. But this is much, much different. This is me, not a figment of my imagination. It's interesting to see what comes to mind when you're told to write something that explains why you are who you are.

I've thought of telling you the story of how I learned to ride a bike, secondhand since I hardly remember since I was so young; I thought of telling you about losing a tooth in a bowl of mac n' cheese once at the babysitter's house; I thought of telling you how I got inspiration to write my first story. I thought about telling you about my first real fist-fight in school, about how the first book that I really got into and wanted to real more of, about how I met my husband. But these things kind of seem so trivial to me now, like they weren't as important to me in the long run as they should have been, could have been.

But then again...

It feels just like yesterday when I was sitting in a second grade classroom. We had gotten an assignment that was to last us all year—writing a short story every day and drawing a picture to go along with it. Mine was about a horse, as always, and how it saved the day when a little cat was in trouble. I got so into this story, so emotionally involved in the well-being of this cat and the heroism of the horse. But I would never write in pencil, only in markers or colored pens. I wanted my stories to have flare, which, even still, I think makes up for their lack of depth.

Is this what inspired me to write, though? No, I'd say. Not really.

Quinn sat there after she typed it and re-read it three times, inspecting it for typos or errors in grammar. It definitely was not what she had expected it to be, but she went with the flow of what she was writing. She wanted this to sound natural, not forced like some of the other things she'd written about herself.

As she was just about to begin typing again, she heard a noise that sounded like splashing water. She looked up and saw that across the lake, which was not very far away, there was a man swimming along the water, seeming to begin laps. She could not make out his face until he swam closer, but she saw that he had dark hair, which was a bit overgrown and clung to his face. As he grew closer, her still watching him absentmindedly, she saw that he had a strong jaw, much like the woman's husband. The muscles on his back were so noticeable, even from a distance, that she had to squirm a bit as heat rushed through her. Before she knew it, he was coming close to where she was sitting on the deck. Quinn tried to look away, but she kept glancing back. Her face turned red as she realized this, scolding herself. You're married, Quinn. Control yourself, she thought. It was hard to, though, with how her marriage was going.

When she first married Gerald at the age of twenty-one, everything had been pure bliss. They had been in the honeymoon stage for at least the first five years—best friends, and lovers. But after he had gotten a promotion, and she took up teaching night school classes, they seemed to lose time for each other. Neither had enough energy to make love as often as they had before, or even to have long conversations about their days. It had been months since they'd had quality sex. So no, she really could not control herself—Quinn had always been as sexual as any given man, if not more so as she got closer to her prime.

She went to her web browser and typed in "literotica.com." She picked a story about a couple on vacation and slipped off her sweatshirt, leaving her only in a tank top and sweatpants—she hadn't bothered with any undergarments when she'd woken up. Her nipples stirred as they were immersed in the chilly air.

As she read the words, she slowly ran her hand lightly over her stomach, creating a tingling sensation that spread to all of the right places, making her buds even more erect. She used her other hand to take her deep red hair out of the hair tie it had been strung up in, letting it fall to tickle her shoulders. Slowly but surely, the hand made its way underneath the waistband of her pants, her fingers running through the thin strip of hair that lied beneath them and dipping into the wetness that had pooled. Quinn's head tilted back in pleasure as she made contact with the little nub that had come out of its hiding place and her eyes closed, biting her lip gently. It had been a while since she'd been intimate with herself, and she was basking in the sensations. She began to rub her clitoris very slowly, making circles around it. She began to get jolts of pleasure, so Quinn picked up the speed a bit, slipping the other hand inside of her top to cup her left breast. She squeezed a nipple as she rubbed her clit, letting a little whimper escape her full lips.

Releasing her nipple, she pulled down her shirt's thin straps and exposed her breasts to the breeze. They nearly instantly hardened. Then her free hand went inside her pants to join the other, rubbing her throbbing lips and teasing her opening. She heard a noise in the water again but did not bother to open her eyes to look. She continued with the rubbing and the teasing, and she felt her muscles begin to tense so she plummeted a finger deep inside of her soaked pussy, making a come-hither motion with it and rubbing the right spot inside of her. She moaned a little, adding a second finger, which barely fit inside the tight space. More whimpered escaped her mouth as she began pumping and rubbing in and out of her pussy, trying to get to the edge. Quinn told herself that she'd stop just when she got there and save it for later.

Suddenly, she felt something wet touch her nipple and she opened her eyes. It was the man, the swimming man, and he was beautiful. His lips were wrapped around her nipple, his tongue playing with it. She gasped loudly but did not pull away. She took a hand away from her pussy and used it to pull his head closer to her body. He took her other perky breast into his hand, rubbing it and squeezing it rhythmically. She moaned as his teeth tugged gently at her bud, his tongue still rubbing at it. His free hand was rubbing at her thigh through her pants, teasing the inside of her thigh. He switched breasts, kissing a pathway between the beautiful globes. Her fingers gripped his hair as she was driven closer and closer to the edge. He moaned, his voice deep and sensual, the noise vibrating on her skin.

And then his hands were on the waist of her pants, trying to pull them free to get full access to her body. She lifted her hips off of the chair, allowing him to tug them off. His lips detached from her nipple long enough for him to remove her sweatpants, pulling them all the way off and kneeling between her legs. His mouth was back but it was on Quinn's stomach, licking and kissing, and his pants were on her inner thighs, rubbing them up and down. Even if she had wanted to protest what had begun to happen, it was doubtful that she would be able to find her voice.

He took her hand away from her own pussy and replaced it with his own, pushing two of his fingers, much thicker and longer than her own, into her warm cavern. His mouth moved down from her stomach, and his face nuzzled her pubic area, his nose rubbing up and down her landing strip. She gasped as he continued to pump her, daring to moan a bit louder than before, trying to encourage him to touch her there with his tongue instead of just teasing. His mouth was right there—she could feel his hot breath on her wet lips. But he began to slow down his efforts, rubbing a little more softly inside of Quinn. She whimpered in protest.

"Just do it," she gasped, pleasure still writhing throughout her body.

He looked up at her and smiled this overwhelming smile that made her pussy even wetter than it already was, if that were even possible for the slick crevice. "Beg for it," he told her before kissing up her thigh from her knee. His tongue flicked out and ran along her sensitive skin there.

"No!" she said earnestly, not wanting to give up any dignity than she already had.

The man sighed. "Well..." He made a face and began to pull away.

Quinn grabbed his hand, her eyes wide open. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" she demanded.

"Home," he replied. "I should be swimming laps anyway." He winked. "It was nice to meet you."

But she did not release his arm so he could leave. "Get back here."

"Why should I?" he asked playfully, wiggling his eyebrows.

She huffed. "You know why—to finish what you started."

"Like I said, my services aren't free. I require only one thing: you've got to beg for the services," he said, a goofy grin on his face. The man took one of his fingers and put it in his mouth, his cheeks going inward as he sucked her juices off of it. "Mm," he moaned, looking upward briefly. "And how I hate to leave such a lovely pussy unattended."

"Please," she said softly.

"What? I can't hear you," he replied. "What do you want?"

"Please," she repeated. "I want you to touch me."

"Where?"

"You know where," she said indignantly, standing up. She pushed him back against the rail of the deck, her hands rested low on his hard stomach. "I want you to touch me, everywhere. I want your tongue everywhere, especially on my pussy. I won't beg, you're simply going to give it to me."

He raised his eyebrows. The man had not expected such behavior from the woman, he was definitely surprised. He put a hand on her waist, running it slowly up her side as he eyed her beautiful body. He didn't even know this woman's name and she had already gotten him wrapped around her finger.

Without warning, he picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder, and headed towards the inside of his house. If any neighbors had been outside, they would have gotten a wonderful view of her glistening pussy.

"What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, hitting his back.

"Where's the bedroom?" he asked her, then thought a moment. "Actually this will do." He practically threw her on the couch, nearly knocking over the ceramic bowl on the coffee table.

Soon he was on top of her, between her thighs, a hand rubbing at her wet pussy while the other slipped around her waist to pull her closer to him. Their mouths met for the first time, a kiss completely filled with lust and passion. As soon as his fingers were back inside of her, Quinn stopped her slight resistance, moaning into his mouth. She nibbled at his bottom lip, she sucked at it. She could feel his hard shaft on her thigh, only separated by the thin swim trunks he was wearing. Quinn could tell even then that it was a big one, something she was not used to—her husband was only about five inches and not as thick as she would have liked. But now there was this beautiful man on top of her, pleasuring her. She did not want to think about Gerald right now, just about the mysterious swimmer who was now being made into a lover.

The man moved his lips from her mouth to the nape of her neck, grinding himself on her thigh. He lapped at it like a dog, tasting the sweat that had formed there. He knew all of her weak spots without knowing her name. "Tell me what you want me to do," he murmured into her ear as he nibbled at it.

"Lick my pussy," she said breathlessly, gasping for air as his fingers pinched her nipple hard.

He let out a moan of his own. That was exactly what he'd wanted her to say—not only was oral his specialty, but he loved doing it. He'd already sampled her taste from his fingers and now he wanted more. This time he didn't bother to tease the rest of her body on the way down to her beautiful cunt. He wanted it too badly this time. The man got off of the couch, pulling her hips toward the edge of the cushion so he had free rein over her. He raised her legs, wrapping his arms around them and spreading them enough to give him space to work.

He ran his face up and down her smooth thighs. The scent of her arousal filled the room, but this close it was even more apparent. The man inhaled deeply, his erection throbbing in his pants. He kissed either side of her slit, then on stop and under it. He ran his lips along the beautiful specimen, placing tiny kisses over her clit. His tongue reached out to take a quick lick at it and Quinn moaned, gripping the back of the couch aggressively to keep herself from pushing his head into her—she wanted to be teased and pleasured to the maximum level.

He continued to do this, tracing the outline of her plump outer lips with his tongue, and then moving inside of those to her delicate inner ones. He relished the sexy taste. In his mind, this was ambrosia. After repeating this motion a few times, he took one of those pretty inner lips into his mouth and sucked, rubbing at it with his tongue. He did this for a while, then repeated it on the other side. She let out a gasping whimper in response, gripping the couch even harder. Her entire body teased as she tried to focus all of her attention on his actions. He shoved her legs even farther apart, suddenly burying his tongue deep in her opening. She whimpered even more, arching her back, trying to get his tongue deeper inside of her. He pumped his tongue in and out of her tight little pussy, curling his tongue to lap up her delicious juices.

His lips went up to her clit and wrapped around it, beginning to suck and tongue at it as he plunged a finger into her hole...

[To be continued]