In Her Element

In her element

The property lay at the end of a dead end road, private, remote and all hers. She had purchased the property a few years ago for investment purposes. It had turned out to be an investment in her sanity. The wide open areas, wooded paths and remote location were her sanctuary – an escape from the real world. It was someplace to run to when the stress of everyday life started to close in around her.

There was a small cabin here, stables and a barn – the previous owners had kept horses. There was a pond for swimming and fishing and wooded hills to wander. She loved it here – the solitude, the quiet, the simple peace of it all. This week promised to rejuvenate her, wash away the grime of the city, the stress of life and let her be free of worry, thought or concern – at least that was the plan. She had never fully been able to execute it for any extended period of time, but every little bit helped keep her together and sane.

While she had never really gotten used to being up here all alone, she knows she needs and wants the solitude and quiet, where no one expects anything from her. The dog as her only companion, he is an old friend, menacing in appearance, but a threat to no one. He gives her comfort, making her feel safe and protected. Not to mention the fact that he loves her unconditionally – flaws and all – he is always by her side, following her wherever she may go.

As she closes the property gate behind her and climbs back in her car for the drive up to the cabin, she thinks to herself that closing that gate was like locking life out – nothing mattered here, time stood still.

She parks her car in front of the cabin, letting the dog out of the car and taking her things inside. As she places the groceries on the kitchen counter she realizes there is a pickup truck with a horse trailer parked out behind the cabin.

She also realizes the dog is at the back of the house barking at something. As she nears the back door the dog stops barking and begins prancing like he recognizes someone – a good sign as far as she is concerned.

He opens the door and enters, filling the door frame with his body. Well over six feet, broad of shoulder, a cowboy hat on his head. His legs are long, well muscled in his jeans, tapering to a well worked pair of cowboy boots.

Stepping back from the door with a gasp, she realizes who it is – a definite wrench in her plans if he was hanging around for any period of time. His deep, husky voice pushed her beyond reason, and to look in his eyes made her weak in the knees – always had.

The two of them had some history – long time friends, they had a brief affair, but she broke it off to pursue a career in the city – a place he just couldn’t follow her to despite how he felt about her.

He removed his hat as he entered the cabin, looking down at her, piercing her with those gray green eyes. “Hello Angel – how’ve you been?” cool as always, as if no time had passed since their last encounter.

“Hello Cole – I didn’t realize anyone would be up here – Mom said the place would be empty all week. And the name is Morgan – not Angel.” Her parents stayed here regularly, caretakers of a sort, keeping the place habitable for her, spending their retirement enjoying each other’s company.

“Your dad asked me to come up and do some work around the place. I had some time off so I figured I’d come up and take care of it. Is this going to be a problem?”

“No – I’m sure we’ll manage. I just need some time to decompress. I was hoping to have the place to myself, but you’re welcome to stay.”

He smiled, strode out of the room, calling back over his shoulder – “I’ll just move my stuff up to the loft.”

As he left the room she thought to herself “I meant you’re welcome to stay with me”, but she held her tongue – this was time for her – Cole wasn’t in the plans, although in her experience plans changed rapidly.

After a long shower and a change of clothes she feels like a new woman. Walking into the kitchen, she finds him there, making dinner. Simple fare – burgers and a salad, and she really is hungry.

He turns to place the plates on the table, taking her in head to toe. She looks so much more relaxed now in a worn pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The old rush of desire washes over him as he asks her to sit at the table.

Over dinner, they make idle chit chat about family, friends they haven’t seen for awhile. Clearing the dishes and putting them in the sink she tells him she is going for a walk. “Do you want some company?” he asks. Morgan tells him “I’d like to have some time to myself if that’s okay. I’ll take the dog with me, he needs a good run.”

She grabs the dog’s leash and her sketch pad and heads out to walk around the property. This time of year it doesn’t get dark until nearly 9:00, so there is plenty of time. She walks across the open field, no destination in mind, the dog chasing everything that moves and bounding out ahead of her.

A short distance from the cabin there is a small garden, with a bench, some chairs, a fire pit and a small pond. The garden is basically a large circle in the middle of the field. The seating is at one arc, the garden and pond at the other. In the center is a fire pit.


There is a small vegetable patch and a cutting garden, some herbs growing in between the two. Her mother tends the garden – a passion Morgan envies. Her green thumb is completely accidental – what she plants does well, seeming to thrive and grow, but erratic and eccentric, kind of like her.

She selects one of the chairs and sits down to sketch, calling to the dog to make sure he knows she isn’t going any farther. As the dog starts back, she begins doodling – little sketches of flowers, ladybugs, beetles and spiders filling the page. This is something she does well. Arts, crafts and writing are her outlet – and she’s not half bad.

Before she knows it the sun is setting, casting shadows over the page, making it impossible to draw any longer. She curses herself for not bringing a flashlight, not that she needs it to find her way back, but it would be nice to see where she was stepping.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to read in the dark?” His voice startles her – in more ways than one, that old familiar tingle shooting down her spine.

“Yes, often actually, but I’m not reading. What are you doing out here?”

He leans in to light the fire, “I figured you came out without a light and I know you well enough to know you would sit here until it was too dark to see. I thought I’d come out, give you some light and talk.”

“Talk? What do you want to talk about?” She is afraid this is a loaded question – one she probably shouldn’t have asked. As always, her tongue is ahead of her brain.

“Nothing in particular really. I’m just looking for some company.” He smiles at her, the fire coming to life and bringing his chiseled features into view. The shadows make him appear even stronger – his profile cast against the light from the fire.

“Okay.” Her voice cracks. “Thanks for coming out. I don’t mean to snap, I’m just tired. I came out here this week for a much needed break. Apparently I needed it more than I realized.”

“So you want to talk about it?”

“No – I want to let it go, forget that I have any responsibilities in life and just enjoy myself, take some time for me. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know. So – is it your job that’s causing all this stress?”

“Yes. I love what I’m doing, I just wish sometimes that I could let it all go, just walk away. That I could spend time doing something I really love, something that makes me happy all the time, not temporarily.”

“You used to do that you know. Writing and your crafts always made you happy – why don’t you do that? You know you don’t have to work.”

“I do have to work – I need an income. How would I play for this place, or my house, or just the everyday little things if not for a job. Writing and painting don’t pay my bills.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t want to get into it again, I’m just saying – you do have a choice. Besides, how do you know you couldn’t make a living doing those things? Have you ever tried?”

“You know I’ve done the little craft shows here and there, but nothing I could make a living at. As for writing, I’ve always done that for me, it’s not something I know how to share easily. It’s what I love, but I’m no Stephen King or for what I write Nancy Friday.”

He laughs, “I always enjoyed your stories. I thought they were pretty damn good and I bet Nancy Friday would like them too.”

“You’re a man, put the word HARD or WET in a story and you’ll love it – especially if you can put yourself into it. That doesn’t mean it’s good, it means it makes you hot.”

“Damn, they were hot. I kind of miss reading those. Do you still write them?”

“One a day, every day. There’s probably enough for a book, but realistically, who wants to read story after story of sex? After the first one it would probably get old and then there’s a whole group of people out there who don’t want to buy something with my name on it because I bored them.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a problem. So do you ever think about me when you’re writing them?” He asked the question quietly, his deep voice laced with tension and sending a tingle down her spine, his eyes looking at the ground.

She knew it was sexual tension she heard. Talking about her stories made her hot too, thinking of the things they held. Technically they were long sex scenes, a little plot, a lot of HOT.

She loved writing, she loved sex – it came naturally. She had no inhibitions when she was writing so they could be as steamy as she could stand – whether she could pull it off in reality or not didn’t really matter.

“Yes I think about you, you’re a great source of inspiration. Your voice still has the power to make me weak. I’ve become a big country fan, listening to music while I’m writing – although truth be told, it’s more for the deep voice effect than the music. Jeff Bates is a current favorite. Long slow kisses, rub it in, hands on man – it’s all good.”

“Hmmm, interesting and good to know. So you gonna let me read your latest works? Better yet, you could read them to me.” He looked at her now, his eyes challenging her, daring her to test her strength.

She returned his glare, “Sure, if you think you’re UP to it. You sure you can handle it?” Her voice was smooth as velvet, a caress, smoky and heavily laden with desire.

He jumped from his seat and stomped out the fire with his boots. “You know I can handle it. I am a hands on man – like to touch it, like the feel of it, let my fingers linger on it just as long as I can – isn’t that how it goes?” He called the dog to follow them and started walking back.

She wasn’t sure her legs would support her as she rose from the chair. She gathered her things and joined him for the walk back to the cabin. His arm came around her, pulling her against him and sending liquid heat coursing through her. A light kiss on the top of her head and they were off.

They entered the cabin and she went to retrieve her laptop and the CD’s of her stories. He removed his boots and went to the kitchen to put some coffee on. He found the Jack Daniels, some half and half and the sugar and started putting together the drinks.

She had changed her clothes again, slipping into a long t-shirt that came just above her knees. Her hair pulled up in a ponytail out of her face – she was ready to work. He brought the “coffee” out and sat beside her on the couch.

She inserted a disk, bringing the first story up on the screen. This was one that had no names, subtle descriptions that could apply to anyone and a scene in a swimming hole. It was short and sweet, hot oral sex, and a scene he would recognize – it was her swimming hole, though the story was placed on old family property – not something she had just recently purchased.

She took a sip of coffee, coughing as the whiskey hit her. “Nice, but you could have warned me. You’re not trying to loosen me up are you?”

He smiled, “Of course not. I just thought it would be a nice way to end the evening. Do you need to be loosened up?”

She turned back to the screen, choosing to hold her tongue for fear of what would slip out of her mouth. Holding the mug in her hands, she began to read. She dropped the level of her voice to a silky seductive tone, placing emphasis on those words that would drive the listener to erotic bliss.

Halfway through the four page story his hand reached across to stroke her naked thigh. Her voice wavered for a second, but she quickly recovered and continued on. His response was encouragement that her writing was if nothing else, effective. She couldn’t resist seeing how far she could push him with her words.

“He watches her swim away calling out to her ‘I’ll bring the steak if you bring the seafood. She wonders if this is what Great Grandpa had in mind when he put that rock out there.’” The last line in the story, her coffee mug is empty and she is feeling warm and tingly – not all of it from the whiskey.

He stands stiffly, “Pull up the next one and I’ll refresh the coffee.” He takes her cup and “limps” into the kitchen. This time she chooses a longer story “Sweet Suite” – seven pages and lot’s of heat. If this didn’t push him to the edge, she’d be here all night reading. Not that she minded, but she hoped her writing and reading was more powerful than that, she wanted to know that he was affected.

He returned with the mugs, sitting close beside her as he placed them on the table. She turns to him “You want to change into something a little less restrictive? I can wait?”

He stands and unbuttons his jeans, allowing his erection to breathe – pushing forward against his boxers. He sits back on the couch “I’m okay. Go ahead.”

She smiles, adjusts herself and begins to read, her voice unsteady, her focus split between the screen in front of her and his swollen member to her right. After the first couple of pages, she reaches out, sliding her hand across to touch him. He groans as her hand strokes him through the soft cotton. The tip of his cock pushes at the waistband – peeking out over the top. Her fingertip brushes the head, feeling the wetness oozing out.

Her voice cracks now as her own arousal overcomes her. He hears it and knows – she is wet and ready. He moves his hand to her thigh, the friction of his hand sending shivers through her as she tries to concentrate on the words on the screen.

The story was at a particularly difficult part to read – only half way through. “When I begin to moan and wrap my fingers around your shaft, you again stop me and say – ‘not yet’. The torture is bliss – I want you, need to feel your tongue inside me, your hands fondling my breasts as I lose control.”

He reaches over and takes the laptop from her, placing it on the table. He sits back again, “Come here, sit on my lap.”

She moves to straddle him, facing him. “No – put your back to me.”

She does as he asks, her legs pulled under her on the couch, spreading her open to him and placing her hot wetness against his groin. He reaches around her, taking her breasts in his hands, pulling her body against him.

His hands begin to roam over her, stroking her flesh, his mouth on her neck, kissing her gently. She hears his moans in her ear, the deep bass resonance of his voice shooting through her – directly into the core of her need.

She feels his erection at her back, pressing against her. He is so hard. She wants to feel him, to stroke him with her lips and her hands, taking his strength into her. Her frustration mounts and she begins to moan, her hips moving against him.

“If you don’t stop moving we’ll be finished before we start.”

“I’m sorry, I need to touch you, I want to feel you inside me.”

He reaches down and touches her, feeling the hot sticky wetness that has collected on the outer lips of her womanhood. His fingers slide into her, coating them with her slick juices. He extracts them from her, running them across her lips and letting her taste herself.

He inserts his fingers into his mouth, licking her from them, the sounds of his sucking assaulting her ears and beginning another flood below. “Mmmm, you still taste so good, sweet and tangy – like citrus and honey.”

“Touch me again, please.”

He does, eagerly sliding his fingers into her, the tips of his fingers brushing against her clit as he slides between her folds. She feels his long digits moving through her, the slick folds of her pushing him down as if directing him to fill her.

As his finger slides inside of her, she lifts from the couch, her hips moving forward, trying to impale herself on his probing digit. He places his other hand on her breast, keeping her from falling forward – his left hand pumping at her, stretching her open.

He removes himself from her, his own hips leaving the couch as he pushes his clothes from his body, freeing his cock at last. He pulls her down over him, the tip of his cock pushing at her entrance – the swollen head feeling too large to enter her.

She tenses up “God I want this – but are you sure?”

“Yes – I want to feel your muscles clamping down on me as you scream my name.”

With that she lowers herself slowly, the head of his cock stretching her wide – it has been so long. He groans as the head of his cock squeezes through the tight opening, her muscles tugging at him, pulling him in deeper.

He pushes into her – one deep thrust sending him deep inside her. He stills, allowing her to adjust to the size of him, all his restraint needed as the tightness of her saps all reason from him. It is all he can do to hold back his desire to slam into her again and again, feeling her damp heat envelop him like a pulsing fist.

She begins to move first, rising from his lap and slowly sliding back over him – the feeling of his cock filling her, then sliding out until the edge of his cock head rubs the outer ring of her cervix – erotic sensations coursing through her.

He joins her now, setting the rhythm as he pulls in and out of her – her muscles massaging his cock on each stroke. He places his hands on her hips, pushing and pulling her body to meet his needs.

She begins to moan loudly, her breathing heavy, her head thrown back, her ponytail coming undone as she loses herself. He stops moving – allowing her to set the pace and ride him. His hand moves to stroke her clit – gently swirling his finger in lazy circles as she rocks her body against his cock.

She can no longer focus – only sensation remains – his cock, his finger, taking her higher and higher. Her movements have become needy – her hips twisting and writhing as she slams down on him, riding him for all she can.

She grips his hands, leaning forward slightly and pushing hard against him, grinding her hips against his body, pushing his cock in as far as she can – as if she cannot get enough. Her climax grips her, she squeezes his arms, her knuckles whitening as she lets go and allows the pleasure to tear through her.

Her climax brings on his own – thrusting harder into her, pumping his seed into her channel, filling her with his hot cum. She feels her muscles pumping him, his ejaculation causing his engorged cock to pulse against the walls of her cervix – setting off another set of orgasms.

Her legs are shaking now, she cannot speak, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. She bucks against him, his finger still hitting her clit, his cock inside her setting off fireworks.

When the climax subsides, she relaxes, falling off him, to the side and laying on the couch, her right leg stretched across him, the other painfully stuck under her. She rolls from the couch, pulling her shaky legs up and sitting next to him.

He is spent – pants around his ankles, his knees falling to either side, his cock still semi-erect laying against his body. His head lies against the back of the couch, catching his breath. She feels a moment of guilt – having pushed him to this and giving in as she did. She quickly recovers though – enjoying the satisfaction he gave her, the now of the situation bringing her warmth and contentment.

She stands and heads to the bedroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it, cleaning herself of the sticky evidence of their coupling. She rinses it out, running it in warm water again and returning to the couch. Gently she wipes him clean, enjoying the feeling of him in her hand.

When she finishes, she rises, taking the coffee cups into the kitchen and setting them in the sink. She closes the laptop, shutting it down. It’s late, and she is tired – time to head to bed. He watches her movements with lazy eyes, then stands, pulling his jeans back around his waist. Taking her hand he heads from the room, turning out the light on the way out.

He stops outside her room, turning to her “I’d like to stay with you tonight.” He is not really asking, but she knows he will go if she asks him to. As much as she needs the solitude, she needs to be wanted like this – to know someone wants to be with her, to love and be loved.

Without a word, she takes his hands and walks into the room, letting him know she wants it too. She has never been one to need to talk and cuddle after making love. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy it or was opposed it, she just knew that he would be tired and she was happy to just curl up against him, his arm around her shoulder, or her arm around him, spooning against him.

They climbed into bed, not a word said. He lay on his back, she on her side facing him, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her. The warmth of him next to her made her feel safe, secure – his strength giving her assurance all was well. It had been so long, her hand felt his chest, remembering how good he felt beneath her hands.

She involuntarily reached out and kissed his chest, her hand still moving across his body. She knew she would get carried away again if she continued. He let out a half awake moan as her lips touched his flesh.

She kissed him once on the mouth – “Thank you.” She then rolled from his embrace, turning over to lie on her stomach, right leg stretched out left bent at the knee, her right arm folder under her head. She had slept that way ever since she could remember – so did her father, her nephew and her sister – funny the things that would pop into your head.

She was asleep in minutes, the day finally catching up with her. Her dreams were fragments – being chased by someone, making love in the woods, her partners face hidden, but known, like channels changing in her mind.

She woke early, the light coming in through the sheer curtain at the window. The sun was not yet up, but the light of dawn was just peeking through. This was her favorite time of day – when nature was rising, the noise of people and life not yet started.

She rolled over, seeing him still sound asleep, stretched out on his back, a rise in the sheet outlining his hard on. She slid under the sheet, moving to lay across the bed sideways, her head at his groin. She began to kiss him gently, her lips just grazing his skin. She moved around him, kissing his thigh, his belly, then licking his scrotum.


She moved over him, taking him in hand and directing his erection towards her mouth. The light snoring confirmed he was still asleep. She licked the head, savoring the taste of him and the contrast of hard steel and soft skin. As her lips close around him, she hears his intake of breath, his hand coming to stroke her hair, his legs spreading apart.

She holds him upright, taking in the first couple of inches, wetting him with her mouth and sliding him in and out. Her strokes slowly increase in length, her lips loosely wrapped around him. He wakes slowly, the pleasure she is giving forcing him from sleep. His moans are quiet, sounding almost like lazy stretches.

His hand continues to stroke her hair, the softness of it arousing him as she sucks at his cock. He pulls her hair into his fist, using it as leverage to move her head, pushing her farther, his cock pulsing against her lips.

She wraps her lips around her teeth, closing them down around him and increasing the speed of her strokes. His hips lift from the bed, matching her stroke for stroke. His free hand reaches out to stroke her back and ass, his hand pulling her against him as he does.

He maneuvers her around until her body is nearly parallel to his, where he can reach her easily. His hand moves over her ass, cupping it in his hand and squeezing. When her moans become erratic and she is moving against him he dips his hand down and lightly brushes her wet lips.

He quickly moves away, leaving her wanting more. He feels the power he has over her and assumes control. He pulls himself from her mouth, “Get on your knees and spread your legs apart.”

She does as he asks, and he slides between her legs, grasping her hips, pulling her down over his mouth. She resumes her work, although less steady now as his tongue assaults her womanhood with open mouthed kisses.

As his tongue glides inside her she finds it harder and harder to concentrate on him, losing control and letting him slip from her mouth as she moans. Finally she stops, concentrating solely on the sensations rippling through her, his tongue massaging her, her liquid pouring over his face.

She begins to move against his mouth, her hips grinding against his face, his soft lips caressing her, his tongue sliding inside. He slips a finger into her, slowly sliding it in and out of her slick slit. Her moans increase in volume and frequency – she is close to the edge now, ready and wanting to cum.

He inserts a second finger into her, feeling her kegel muscles tighten around him as he probes her. He tastes her on his tongue, her scent arousing him, wanting to push her to the edge and feel her tense around him – knowing he did this to her – he made her let go, he brought her to this fulfillment – it was empowerment.

She felt the same when giving him head, as if she were in control for the moment, bringing him pleasure, or teasing him – deciding how much pressure to apply, where to lick and of course, reaping the reward of his release. She enjoyed that – it made her feel desired, wanted – as if she were the most important thing at that moment – the only one who could do what she was doing.

Her body tensed as her orgasm came on her, a flood of warmth pouring through her – all of it gathering at her center and pouring from her like lava from a volcano. The pulsing waves of pleasure continued as he pushed his fingers into her, moving the tips against the inside of her, coaxing more from her.

Breathless and unable to take anymore she begs for him to stop “Please, no more, oh god, it won’t stop, can’t take any more.”

He pulls his fingers from her, dripping with her wetness, his face covered with her honey. She moves from over him, laying at his side again, catching her breath and squeezing her thighs together, the wetness sticky on her legs.

He places a hand on her head “Did you like that?”

“God yes – I had forgotten how good you were. That was really intense. It’s been a long time for me.”

“Me too – and you taste so good. But I could really use a shower and a cup of coffee. What do you say we get up now?”

She glances over at his hard member lying across his belly – fully erect. “Looks like you are already up. Sorry I stopped, but I can’t focus on what I am doing when you do that to me.”

“It’s fine; we have plenty of time, besides I enjoyed that, especially turning the tables on you.”

He moves from the bed, gathering his boxers and pulling them on before heading out to the kitchen where he starts the coffee.

She climbs from the bed, making it up again as was her habit. In the bathroom, she starts the shower, then turns to wait for the water to heat. Seeing her reflection in the mirror she stares for a moment. The worry lines she sees every morning are gone; her eyes are wide open and bright – not half dead and pale as they are when she wakes in the morning in the “real world”. She looks a good five years younger then she did when she left the office 48 hours ago.



A smile spreads across her face, her cheeks are rosy, her eyes bright blue as she basks in her happiness. Okay, so her hair is a nasty rat’s nest – but that is a result of other events – and well worth the big hair look. She suddenly realizes she feels no stress at all – she has not thought about anything outside these property lines since she got here. Whether it is Cole or this place doesn’t matter right now – she is whole again, happy and content and not a care in the world. That will do for now, and she is not thinking beyond right now.

The water is warm, steam pouring into the bathroom as she steps into the shower. The hot water hits her skin and she closes her eyes, letting the steam swirl around her and the hot water wash over her skin. She stands with her head under the stream, just enjoying the shower – no deadlines to meet, no rush to get out. She feels the cold air seep in as the door opens, his body cool against her hot flesh.

She reaches out to touch him, bringing him under the shower head with her, standing like lost lovers in a downpour, oblivious to everything else. She wraps her arms around him, running her hands up and down his back, across his buttocks and hips. No words are spoken as she lifts her head to look at him.

His eyes are dark with need and something else she does not recognize. He lifts her chin and lowers his mouth over hers. The kiss is deep and sensual, robbing her of her ability to stand. He pulls her against him, his erection pressing against her belly. His hands stroke her wet hair and caress her neck.

She is lost to the mists of the steam and his touch. The erotic sensations he is stirring in her feel almost unreal as if in a dream. She slides to her knees in front of him, her hands coming to rest on his hips. Kissing him gently, she moves to take him into her mouth. Her lips lap at the water streaming from him, tasting his skin.

She closes her mouth over him taking him inside her mouth. Her lips grasp him firmly, pulling him in, her tongue pushing him back out again. Slowly, with long strokes, she moves him in and out of her mouth – her own arousal increasing as his hands tangle in her hair, his moans echoing in the shower stall.

Her hands grasp his hips, holding herself against him as she continues to ride him with her mouth. His body tenses as the sensations increase, closing in on his climax. She redoubles her effort, squeezing him tightly in her lips, her strokes quicker and harder. He grabs her hair, calling out her name in a soft moan. Grasping her head and holding her still he pushes deeply into her mouth as his orgasm tears through him, filling her with his cum. She swallows deeply, taking him in, then stands to complete her shower.

Stepping out of the shower, she grabs a towel – soft, fluffy and white, it makes her think of luxury spas. Her next thought is that the only luxury here is the peace, quiet and a good, hard man. Beats the spa any day.