Laura enjoyed accompanying her husband, Arthur, to the remote Rocky Island cabin for his bird field studies. The cabin sat on the edge of a spruce forest above a beach on a small island far off the coast of Alaska. Arthur spent the day with his spotting scope off in the blind, counting birds. As a kindergarten teacher, Laura had the whole summer off. For weeks at the cabin she had every day completely alone in a place so remote that it was rare for a boat to appear on the far horizon or an airplane to pass overhead.
Part of the pleasure of this remote privacy was the ability to forget about wearing clothing. As long as it wasn't cold or rainy, Laura never bothered with pants or panties, just wearing a long t-shirt or fleece top from the morning when she cooked breakfast, through the day spent reading or walking on the shore, and into the evening when she climbed into the double-sized sleeping bag with Arthur and wrapped her legs around him for the nightly fuck that she always insisted on. If the sun was out, she did without her top, too, and wore nothing but her sturdy clogs.
Each morning after Arthur left for his studies, Laura would bathe on the front deck of the cabin with water warmed on the camp stove, washing her long, brown hair, her breasts, underarms and, most thoroughly of all, between her legs, rubbing her clit, vagina and anus with the rough fabric of a washcloth, the cushioned resistance of a sponge, and with her slippery, soapy hands. After drying in the sun, she would apply a thick layer of sun block to all her sensitive spots-she brought cases of the stuff. Then she would sit back on a lawn chair to read from the large box of erotic stories she had brought while lazily rubbing her clit, sometimes with her fingers and sometimes with a selection from her extensive collection of battery-operated vibrators. Within half an hour her cunt would be wet and her skin flushed, and that was how she would go through the day, always keeping herself at the forward edge of arousal, just short of the need to come as soon as possible.
Walking on the beach or working in the cabin, at any time of the day, she might feel the warmth in her scalp and the sensitivity in her hard nipples was enough-she had to have more. Then, wherever she was, she would grab her favorite vibrator-the big, red one that filled her up, wiggled inside on her G spot, and vibrated bunny ears on her clit-and she would sit or squat or just lie on the ground, and she would do it until she came. In her state of excitement, it only took a few minutes to come whenever she wanted to, and if she felt like it, she would keep going and come and come and come. There in the wilderness, she was free to scream and laugh at the eagles flying overhead while she gave herself orgasms several times a day, the hours speeding by until Arthur returned.
One late summer afternoon a boat appeared on the horizon while Laura was sitting on the beach with her legs spread and a toy plunging in and out of her cunt. The boat slowly approached. She resented anyone invading her world and she got mad. No holding off: she brought on her orgasm quickly, just one little one this time, and put her long shirt back on, fuming at the beat-up fishing boat that came right into her cove and dropped an anchor. It was some kind of small fishing boat, its paint all peeling, with the name "Predator" painted on the bow.
Arthur tried to calm her down that evening. After all, the waters were free to anyone. Laura said, "OK, then you won't mind if I go outside like this?" She pulled her shirt over her head, so she was naked, and went for the door.
"I don't think they could see you at this distance," he said, uncertainly.
Laura loved Arthur dearly, and she enjoyed his fit, slender body immensely-he did absolutely anything she told him to do sexually, and his long, slender penis was always ready. But she wished sometimes he could be a little more assertive, more commanding. She came back from the door and looked at him with exasperation, but also a feeling of nurturing. That was just the way he was.
Absentmindedly, she pushed his dinner dish aside and placed her naked butt on the table instead, facing him and resting her feet on his knees as he sat, her legs spread in front of him. He smiled up at her. She grabbed his head by the ears and gently but firmly pushed his face down on her cunt. As soon as his carefully trimmed mustache touch the soft wet flesh there, she felt his mouth go expertly to work sucking on her clit and tickling it up and down on his tongue, just as she had taught him to do. Her tension and anger about the arrival of the boat drifted away as she closed her eyes and concentrated on what Arthur's mouth was doing, hearing only the waves softly rolling in on the beach and the slurping sound as he drank her ample juices. It didn't take long for her to come again-she'd been interrupted on the beach using the vibrator less and an hour before-and this one lasted as she squeezed Arthur's head firmly between her thighs, arched her back, groaned deeply, and sank her elbow into the pot of cooling Dinty Moore stew.
That night after Arthur was asleep, Laura got up to look out in the midnight twilight of the Alaska summer at the boat anchored just offshore. There was a light on. She quietly set up Arthur's high-powered scope to see what was going on aboard the boat. She could see a man sitting at a table in the wheelhouse. He had a full, thick beard, black, thick stringy hair, also jet black, and he was wearing a torn flannel shirt, black with dirt and grease. Not her type. Usually. She tried to see what he was reading at the table. He kept shifting and moving in his seat, with one hand hidden from view under the table. Then she saw that it was a porno magazine. Laura could see he was looking at a fold-out of a slutty woman with her legs wide spread and the fisherman was masturbating.
Jerkily, he stood. For a moment, Laura lost focus on him in the lens, and then she saw he was facing shore, facing her. She looked around. The cabin was dark. There was no way she could be seen watching. In the light inside the boat's cabin, she could see his penis sticking upward as he stood, facing the shore. It was enormous. Huge and thick, like a tree growing out of him, and glistening with lotion. And his big, dirty hands were rubbing it up and down while he writhed, standing, his legs spread apart on the deck. Laura reached down and rubbed herself in time with him, feeling her responsive cunt tighten and grow wet and her breath grow short. She fumbled and found a small, quiet vibrator close at hand. Then she saw him come, a fountain of white semen spurting forth as he jerked this way and that on his feet. He sat down hard, panting, resting. Then he pulled off his shirt and wiped himself with it. His chest was huge and hairy and she could almost smell it through the spotting scope. She started to come, too, trying to remain silent so as not to wake Arthur, and unable to continue looking through the scope. As she sat back, catching her breath, she wondered why the man in the boat had chosen to masturbate right there by the window. Could he have known she was watching?
In the morning after Arthur left, Laura kept her shirt on, feeling angry with the boat, but also excited that the man she had secretly masturbated with was there on board. Distracted and unable to concentrate on anything else, she finally decided to go through with her morning bathing after all. She stood on the sunny deck, facing the boat, and pulled off her shirt, then began the ritual of pouring the water over head and wetting her whole sleek, white body. Pretending she had forgotten something inside, she darted in the door of the cabin and peered out around the corner of the window with binoculars. She saw two figures on the boat, both looking straight at the cabin. The black haired one was there, and now a blond as well, also with a big, shaggy beard. Both were huge, mountainous men. As she looked harder, she noticed they were pushing each other. They had one spotting scope on a tripod aimed at the cabin, and they were fighting over who would get to watch her.
Laura stepped back on the deck to give them a show worthy of their conflict. She stood up on a wooden box so they would be able to see everything. She took the sponge and slowly washed one side, then the other, washed her large breasts carefully, pushing them up and rubbing the nipples, which already stood out hard. Then she bent over so her ass and the slit of her cunt would be facing the boat, and started washing her crack carefully and slowly, rubbing up and down with a slippery, soapy hand again and again. Bending down further she looked between her legs out toward the boat. Both me were on deck now, one of either side, both had their pants around their ankles and were jerking off as fast as they could go. She stood up, turned around, and picked up her binoculars. They couldn't help see that she was looking at them. The black haired one kept on rubbing himself, but the blond jumped up pulled his pants on. Laura was frustrated that she didn't get to check out his penis.
Instead of coming now, Laura decided to tease herself and her watchers some more. She put on a short shirt that barely covered her ass and went for a walk on the beach. Strolling along, she bent over every now and then to pick up a pebble of a shell, making sure her rear end was facing toward the fishing boat when she did. She could feel the shirt riding up and showing off her ass. She spread her legs so they could see the whole thing. She was getting very hot and decided to head back to the cabin to use her favorite vibrator, the big red one, when she saw the two men on the Predator were launching a dingy to come ashore.
Suddenly frightened, Laura rushed to the cabin to put on a pair of pants. It had been so long since she had worn them-several days-where could they be? She starting wildly dumping out bags and digging through the dirty clothes bag looking for them, but looking up she saw the dingy was just arriving on the beach. She decided to walk out and meet them as she was, tugging her short shirt down as best she could so it would at least cover all of her pubic hair.
"Hi, how are you? What can I do for your gentlemen?" she asked.
The black haired man laughed a deep, rumbling, and dirty-minded laugh. The blond said, "Good morning, how are you doing?"
"I'm doing just great. I haven't seen another person for two weeks, except my husband."
"Husband?" grunted the black haired one.
"Yes, he's here," Laura said.
Both men looked crestfallen.
"Figures," said the black haired guy, and he turned to walk back to the dingy.
"So what brings you here?" Laura asked.
