hot girl fuck sex story
This story is about me and Anna. Today we live together, and now I’m sharing it with you all. This is a completely true fucking story, we’ve only changed the names. You might like it. And if you do, please comment.
In the mountains of Colorado, October brings its own unique colors.
Dense pine forests, rolling green hills, and winding roads where fog spreads like a white sheet in the morning.
Somewhere here, on an old road, Dylan Harper’s car had stopped.
Dylan, a 32-year-old architect, had come here for a few months away from the city crowds.
To oversee the renovation of an old mountain lodge.
He was wearing a woolen jacket, a deep blue flannel shirt, and sturdy boots on his feet. In his hand was an old notebook in which he made sketches.
It was raining. The fog was so thick that even five steps ahead weren’t visible.
The car engine had stalled. Dylan got out. Cold wind was slapping his face.
“What bullshit,” he said angrily.
Then he heard the sound of someone walking from afar. A figure emerged from the fog.
A woman, wearing a long blue coat, holding an umbrella, was walking along the edge.
“Hey you!” he called out.
The woman stopped. Came closer. Dylan saw her face for the first time.
Hazel eyes, wet hair stuck to her face from the rain, and a face that looked like the pages of a book—old, deep, mysterious.
“Car broke down?” she asked. Her voice had that authentic mountain accent.
“Yes,” Dylan said, “can’t see anything in this fog.”
“Come, let’s go to my place. It’s ten minutes from here. It’s going to be night soon, it’s not safe to stay here,” she said.
Dylan thought. There was no option. He took out his bag and started walking behind that woman.
Her name was Anna Mitchell. A 29-year-old writer and painter, living in her grandmother’s old house writing her first novel.
Dylan was shocked to see the house. Nearly a hundred years old, stone and wood construction, standing alone on a mountain slope. Weathered stone walls, deep green sloping slate roof. In front was a small wooden porch, two old chairs, a round table.
As soon as he stepped inside, the smell of old wood and wet earth greeted him.
In the main living room was a large stone fireplace with a fire burning.
Bookshelves of old books, high wooden ceiling.
Through the large windows, the valley and distant mountains were visible—submerged in fog, mysterious.
“Sit,” Anna said, “I’ll make tea.”
Dylan sat on the chair and looked around. Everything in the house was old, but clean.
From the upper floor came the smell of paints—oil colors, canvas, paper.
“What are you doing here?” Anna called from the kitchen.
The kitchen was small, copper utensils, wooden shelves.
“Came to look at an old lodge,” Dylan said, “architectural survey.”
“Which lodge? That old ‘Pine Ridge Lodge’?” Anna asked, bringing tea.
“Yes, that one.”
Anna put down the tea. Her hands were trembling. “That lodge… it was my grandmother’s.”
Dylan looked at her. For the first time he looked at her carefully. There was something on her face—pain, or memories.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Anna said, turning away, “stay here tonight. Check your car in the morning.”
Night had fallen. The rain was now coming down harder.
Flames were rising high in the fireplace. Dylan was sitting on the sofa, Anna on the chair opposite.
“You’re a writer?” Dylan asked.
“Writing my first novel,” Anna said, “a story about mountains, about old relationships.”
“I also write,” Dylan said, “but sketches. Old houses, their architecture.”
Anna smiled. For the first time. “So we’re both artists.”
“Do you live here alone?” Dylan asked.
“Yes,” Anna said, “until two years ago there was someone. Then… then I was alone.”
Dylan understood. He also said nothing. Just kept looking at the fire.
“You?” Anna asked.
“Same story,” Dylan said, “there was someone in the city. Then felt like I got lost in the rat race. Came here to find myself.”
Both remained silent. Outside a mountain storm was raging. Pine branches were swaying in the wind.
“Listen,” Anna suddenly said, “that lodge… there’s a document related to it. In my house’s basement. My grandmother had hidden it.”
Dylan looked at her. “What document?”
“Don’t know,” Anna said, “but it’s related to the lodge’s property. Might be important for your work.”
In the next few days, Dylan started coming to Anna’s house every day.
They were searching for that document. In the basement, old boxes, papers, books—searched everything.
One evening, when the fog had lessened a bit, both went out for a walk on the mountain trail.
Behind the house was a narrow footpath, made of stones, filled with wildflowers.
“Look there,” Anna said, pointing toward the distant mountain, “that’s where the sun sets.”
Dylan looked. The sun was spreading orange light from behind the clouds. The mountains had turned golden.
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
“Yes,” Anna said, and there was something in her voice—tenderness, or something more.
They reached the old wooden bridge. Below, the mountain river was flowing rapidly.
The sound of water, the sound of wind, and both of their breaths.
Suddenly the rain started again. Hard. Both stood under a rock beneath the bridge.
Very close. So close that they could feel each other’s breath.
“Cold?” Dylan asked.
“A little,” Anna said, shivering.
Dylan removed his jacket and put it over her shoulders.
His touch was warm. Anna looked at him. There was something in her eyes—gratitude, or attraction.
Both kept looking into each other’s eyes.
The rain was falling hard outside. The smell of pine was in the air.
Dylan slowly put his hand on her face.
Anna closed her eyes. Her skin was cold, soft.
“Anna,” Dylan said softly.
She opened her eyes. Dylan put his lips on hers.
A light, questioning kiss. Anna put her hands on his waist.
The kiss deepened. Tongues met. Breaths mingled. Both started losing themselves in each other.
When the rain stopped at night, both returned home. The fireplace was burning. The room was warm, the smell of wood.
Anna made tea. Both sat on the porch. Star-filled sky. Cold wind, but warmth between them.
“I’m going,” Dylan said.
“Stay,” Anna said, so softly that perhaps she herself couldn’t hear.
Dylan stopped. Anna got up. She put her hand in his. “Come,” she said.
On the upper floor was her studio. Canvases everywhere, paints, unfinished paintings.
From the balcony, mountains above the clouds were visible—silver in the moonlight.
Anna closed the window. The room was lit only by candlelight.
Dylan embraced her in his arms.
This time no fog, no rain. Just both of them.
Dylan removed her blue coat. Beneath was a light dress. He slowly unbuttoned it. Anna closed her eyes.
When the dress came off, Dylan saw. Her milky white, full breasts, deep pink nipples.
Dylan slowly took one breast in his hand. Anna held her breath.
“You’re beautiful,” Dylan said.
Then he bent down and took her breast in his mouth.
Anna let out an “ahh” sound. Dylan started sucking her breast, lightly biting the nipple with his teeth.
“Ahh… Dylan… gently… nipple hurts…” Anna was moaning.
Dylan started sucking the other breast too. He was sucking both breasts alternately.
Anna’s hands were in his hair, pulling him closer.
Dylan laid her on the bed. He also removed his clothes. Then he sat near her feet and started kissing her thighs. Slowly moving upward.
Anna’s breathing became faster. When Dylan reached near her pussy, he started kissing it.
Then he took out his tongue and started licking her slit.
“Ahh… Dylan… what are you doing…” Anna screamed.
“I’m eating your pussy,” Dylan said, “it’s delicious.”
Dylan thrust his tongue into Anna’s pussy. Started moving in and out.
Anna was going crazy. She dug her hands into the bed sheets.
“Ahh… deeper… put your tongue deeper… feels good…” Anna was moaning.
Dylan kept licking her pussy continuously.
Her pussy had become wet, water was flowing out. Dylan licked that water too.
Then Dylan came up. Anna saw his cock. Thick, long, standing erect.
It was the first time she was seeing someone’s cock so close.
“Will you suck?” Dylan asked.
Anna nodded her head yes.
She bent down and took Dylan’s cock in her hand. Then slowly took it in her mouth.
“Umm…” Dylan moaned.
Anna started moving the cock in and out of her mouth.
The upper part of Dylan’s cock was going till her throat. She was also licking the cock with her tongue.
“Ahh… Anna… you’re sucking so well…” Dylan was moaning.
Anna took Dylan’s cock deep in her mouth.
His cock was tearing through her throat going inside. Dylan grabbed her hair and started moving her head back and forth.
Dylan laid Anna down. He placed his cock on the outer part of her pussy. Pressed slowly.
“It will hurt a little,” he said.
“Yes,” Anna said, “but I want you inside.”
Dylan gave a thrust. His cock went inside.
Anna screamed, but then became quiet. She was warm, tight.
Dylan was on top of her. He started thrusting slowly.
Anna’s legs were around his waist. Her breasts were moving up and down.
“Ahh… Dylan… deeper inside…” Anna was moaning.
Dylan increased his speed. The “fap-fap-fap” sound was echoing in the room. The candle flame was flickering.
“Your pussy is so tight,” Dylan said.
“Fuck me more…” Anna said, “make me completely yours…”
Then Dylan made her get on her knees.
Anna raised her ass. Dylan inserted his cock in her pussy from behind.
“Ahh… from behind it’s going even deeper…” Anna screamed.
Dylan grabbed her waist and started thrusting hard.
Her ass was shaking with every thrust. He also slapped her ass.
“Thap-thap” sounds were coming.
Then Anna laid Dylan down and sat on top of him herself.
She took Dylan’s cock in her pussy and started bouncing up and down.
Her breasts were swinging in front of Dylan’s mouth. He was sucking them.
Anna was rotating her ass moving his cock in and out.
“Ahh… Dylan… I’m going to cum…” Anna screamed.
“Me too…” Dylan said.
Both came together. Dylan filled Anna’s pussy with his cum.
The next day, Anna found that diary in the basement. Her grandmother’s.
It was written that someone else had rights to the lodge’s property—Dylan’s great-grandfather’s.
Anna called Dylan. Showed him the diary.
“Did you know?” she asked, with tears in her eyes.
“No,” Dylan said, “I didn’t know anything.”
“Then why did you come to me?” Anna shouted, “just for this diary?”
“No,” Dylan said, “I love you.”
“Lie,” Anna said, “you all lie.”
Dylan left from there. Anna kept crying.
A week later, Dylan came again. Anna didn’t open the door. Dylan stood outside. It was raining.
“Anna,” he called out, “I’ve left that lodge project. I talked to my family. They said they’re giving up rights to the property. In your grandmother’s name.”
The door opened. Anna came out. Her eyes were red.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I don’t want to lose you,” Dylan said, “love is bigger than truth.”
Anna hugged him. Both stood getting wet in the rain.
Six months later.
Anna’s novel was published. Dylan built a small studio for her in the mountains. Both lived there.
One night, in front of the fireplace, Dylan proposed to Anna.
“I know I came late in your life,” he said, “but now I won’t go.”
Anna said yes.
That night, both made love again. Slowly, lovingly, all night.
Dylan sucked Anna’s breasts again, licked her pussy, and Anna sucked his cock. Then both fucked in different positions.
Some relationships are like mountains—strong, stable, and forever.
Dylan and Anna’s relationship was like that. In the witness of fog and pine trees, two souls met and became one.
And when stars came out at night, both sat on the balcony hand in hand, then the mountains also smiled.
Because love, real love, is always found at heights.
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