Stormy Passions

Katie has one passion. Her body. When she steps outside the air feels thicker on her skin, every breeze a hand between her legs. She finds a clearing by the lake, where pine needles prick the soles of her bare feet. The storm waits on the horizon, clouds heavy and ready, but she refuses to hurry. She slips the straps from her shoulders and lets the cotton fall. Her nipples tighten in the cool air. She spreads a blanket beneath her, kneels, then reclines until her spine kisses damp ground. She opens her thighs wide, letting the woods see everything: her cunt already glossy, pink, asking. Two fingers slide inside, slow and warm, pushing the wetness deeper. She keeps her strokes deliberate, curling just enough to brush the tender ridge inside. A branch cracks somewhere and her walls flutter, squeezing around the intrusion. The first wind hits cool against swollen lips. She hears thunder roll, low and impatient. Her hips lift, chase the pressure. Slick leaks down the cleft of her ass; she smears it over the tight ring of her hole, rubbing in circles. More thunder. She adds a third finger and rolls her clit in fast, tight spirals. Her breath shudders. Rain starts, fat drops pattering on bare skin, running between her breasts and down to where her hand pumps. Each new droplet feels like a kiss. Her thighs tremble. She pushes harder, fingers knuckle-deep, knuckles glistening, back arching as the storm presses in. She comes with a sharp cry swallowed by another rumble of thunder, body jerking against wet ground while the sky opens above her. She lies there, cunt still pulsing around her fingers, feeling nature press down with every drop, every crack of lightning above the trees.