Alice2015
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2014
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The West Estate
Morning, Saturday, March 29, 2025
Lyra was having the hardest time trying to figure out what to wear on her outing to Red Bluff Reservoir with Matt. She didn't have closets and closets full of clothing like most single young women her age in the first place, but that really wasn't what it was; she wanted to look perfect, a midway point between casually cute and beautifully sexy. She had a pair of incredible bikinis that she mostly wore during the summer for swimming in the pond on the Estate or for the twice-a-year weekends that she, Grampa Bill, and Lorna -- who'd hated being called Gramma -- had taken to the South Carolina coast on which they'd met and fallen in love oh so many years ago.
The problem with the bikinis was twofold: first, it was barely 50 degrees out, and Lyra had no interest in freezing her nipples off; second, even though she knew she was falling for Matthew West, aka Adam Smith, she thought it was too soon to be flashing that much freckled skin at him after barely a week of knowing him. In the end, Lyra ended up dragging out the same yellow dress she'd worn to Carlson Creek on their errands and shopping trip.
"It took me almost two days to get all of those frickin' burrs out it," she said as she hopped up into the old truck, adding, "I wasn't going to let all that work go to waste. Plus, I didn't really have anything else appropriate considering that sun is out, the skies are clear, but it's still cold as a penguin's bum on an Antarctic ice sheet."
If she hadn't had so many other things running through her head, Lyra would have realized that she'd just spoken more words to Matt than she had in the last 36 hours, since she'd left him sitting in the Sunroom Thursday night and practically fled to her bedroom to masturbate to the fantasy of straddling and writhing upon him. Just as he himself was thinking, Lyra was more than aware that she'd pulled back since their encounter at sundown. She'd barely spoken to him outside of conversations that included Grampa Bill and/or Rosie, and she hadn't spent any time alone with him.
It wasn't that Lyra didn't want to spend time with Matt, particular alone -- the opposite was true. The issue was that if she had been alone with the man, Lyra knew she would have shed her clothes and engaged him like she hadn't any one in over two years and any man in even longer than that.
Lyra could have canceled today but didn't. She couldn't hide from Matt any longer -- hell, she lived under the same roof as he did! So, she'd convinced herself that she could do this, that she could spend the morning with him without ripping his clothes off, her clothes off, their clothes off. And just to be sure that her needs didn't get the best of her, Lyra masturbated herself to another delicious orgasm in the shower, in the hopes that the release would temper her libido.
It wasn't working, though. No sooner had she taken her seat in the truck, Lyra looked Matt up and down, and her mind filled with thoughts of how good he'd feel against and inside her. And he wasn't helping the matter by speaking of her beauty -- her lack of a need for fussing and makeup.
"As soon as you jump in the water it's all going to be gone--"
"I'm not jumping in that water!" Lyra exclaimed, laughing. "You're nuts! Maybe the hot springs, but not the lake."
The building of the Red Bluff Dam and the subsequent flooding of the reservoir behind it had been very controversial back in the 1930s when it was originally undertaken. Those who had owned homes in the flood zone had been upset at being thrown on their property, of course. The farmers downstream had been tickled, though, as it meant the end of the annual flooding of their land; and the farmers upstream had appreciated it, too, because it had meant a constant source of irrigation water.
But the people who'd really been pissed had been the property owners who had made a good living charging people for access to the hot springs on their land. Some of the springs had been mineral in nature; the property owners had bottled and sold the water for their reputed health benefits, while others had built spas that drew hundreds in not thousands of people every year.
All but about a dozen of those springs had been lost to the rising waters of the reservoir, and none of the mineral springs had survived. Lyra had access to one of the springs through a school friend, and if she went into any water today, that was where it would happen.
"I don't know why you'd even wear makeup," Matt went on, "when your already painfully beautiful without it."
"Stop that!" Lyra chastised, having to turn her face away to conceal the seriously red flood of blood to her face.
"Well then. Shall we get going?" he said, starting the truck and shifting into gear. "If we wait any longer it's going to be dark by the time we get there."
"Out the driveway, take a left," she said. Lyra was well aware that Matt had lived here as a young man, but did he know about the bridge outage that had happened just last year. She told him about it, then explained, "The State used an eminent domain claim to get access across some property, connecting Highway 90 to Young Road and back to 90 again."
They headed out, and needing something to do to keep her mind of her desires, Lyra dug through the picnic box to see what Rosie had made for them. She would scan the countryside, point out newer things, ask Matt he remembered older things, and anything else to occupy her mind. When they reached the first recreational area, she gestured him to the entrance, which this time of the year was still closed.
"Right there, see it?" she said as she pointed toward the long string of space boulders lining the driveway to keep people out in place of additional fences. "Those two there, the ones with the black spray paint marks on them. If you line up between them, you'll have about two inches on each side of the truck to get through."
If Matt took a look, he'd see the impressions in the ground from where others had discovered the excessive gap between the two boulders. Lyra warned playfully, "Don't hit the rocks. Grampa Bill'll be pissed if you scratch his truck!"
They got between the rocks to the parking lot and down to the water's edge. "C'mon, I'll show you just why I'm not swimming in that!" She hopped out and ran down to the water's edge, scanning her surroundings. It was beautiful here, so natural looking, even if it was a manmade lake.
Long before Lyra's time, the original river had been lined with homes and acres upon acres of land that had once been covered in timber but had since been logged. Lyra had seen old black-and-white pictures of the upper stretches of the Vizcaino River, and it hadn't been pretty; there had been very little natural or wild about it.
Now, though, with a multitude of restrictions on development, the shoreline of the Red Bluff Reservoir was very wild and very beautiful. There had been plans to log most of the forest, particularly since the Toland Lumber Company had been so important to the city. But TCL had logged most of what became the reservoir over the previous decades, and this time around they'd said no to logging.
The irony was that if the Robert Richardson Fund hadn't come in and destroyed Toland Corporation, Inc., this area might very well have been logged, in part or in whole. It was the only good thing to come out of the middle of the Three Strikes.
Stepping out of her shoes and pulling her dress up to her thighs, Lyra stepped slowly out into the water of the reservoir; she whined at the cold as it consumed more and more of her legs, all the way up past her knees. (OOC: Imagine this in water.) She turned to look back at Matt, an expression of combined shock and joy on her face.
Morning, Saturday, March 29, 2025
Lyra was having the hardest time trying to figure out what to wear on her outing to Red Bluff Reservoir with Matt. She didn't have closets and closets full of clothing like most single young women her age in the first place, but that really wasn't what it was; she wanted to look perfect, a midway point between casually cute and beautifully sexy. She had a pair of incredible bikinis that she mostly wore during the summer for swimming in the pond on the Estate or for the twice-a-year weekends that she, Grampa Bill, and Lorna -- who'd hated being called Gramma -- had taken to the South Carolina coast on which they'd met and fallen in love oh so many years ago.
The problem with the bikinis was twofold: first, it was barely 50 degrees out, and Lyra had no interest in freezing her nipples off; second, even though she knew she was falling for Matthew West, aka Adam Smith, she thought it was too soon to be flashing that much freckled skin at him after barely a week of knowing him. In the end, Lyra ended up dragging out the same yellow dress she'd worn to Carlson Creek on their errands and shopping trip.
"It took me almost two days to get all of those frickin' burrs out it," she said as she hopped up into the old truck, adding, "I wasn't going to let all that work go to waste. Plus, I didn't really have anything else appropriate considering that sun is out, the skies are clear, but it's still cold as a penguin's bum on an Antarctic ice sheet."
If she hadn't had so many other things running through her head, Lyra would have realized that she'd just spoken more words to Matt than she had in the last 36 hours, since she'd left him sitting in the Sunroom Thursday night and practically fled to her bedroom to masturbate to the fantasy of straddling and writhing upon him. Just as he himself was thinking, Lyra was more than aware that she'd pulled back since their encounter at sundown. She'd barely spoken to him outside of conversations that included Grampa Bill and/or Rosie, and she hadn't spent any time alone with him.
It wasn't that Lyra didn't want to spend time with Matt, particular alone -- the opposite was true. The issue was that if she had been alone with the man, Lyra knew she would have shed her clothes and engaged him like she hadn't any one in over two years and any man in even longer than that.
Lyra could have canceled today but didn't. She couldn't hide from Matt any longer -- hell, she lived under the same roof as he did! So, she'd convinced herself that she could do this, that she could spend the morning with him without ripping his clothes off, her clothes off, their clothes off. And just to be sure that her needs didn't get the best of her, Lyra masturbated herself to another delicious orgasm in the shower, in the hopes that the release would temper her libido.
It wasn't working, though. No sooner had she taken her seat in the truck, Lyra looked Matt up and down, and her mind filled with thoughts of how good he'd feel against and inside her. And he wasn't helping the matter by speaking of her beauty -- her lack of a need for fussing and makeup.
"As soon as you jump in the water it's all going to be gone--"
"I'm not jumping in that water!" Lyra exclaimed, laughing. "You're nuts! Maybe the hot springs, but not the lake."
The building of the Red Bluff Dam and the subsequent flooding of the reservoir behind it had been very controversial back in the 1930s when it was originally undertaken. Those who had owned homes in the flood zone had been upset at being thrown on their property, of course. The farmers downstream had been tickled, though, as it meant the end of the annual flooding of their land; and the farmers upstream had appreciated it, too, because it had meant a constant source of irrigation water.
But the people who'd really been pissed had been the property owners who had made a good living charging people for access to the hot springs on their land. Some of the springs had been mineral in nature; the property owners had bottled and sold the water for their reputed health benefits, while others had built spas that drew hundreds in not thousands of people every year.
All but about a dozen of those springs had been lost to the rising waters of the reservoir, and none of the mineral springs had survived. Lyra had access to one of the springs through a school friend, and if she went into any water today, that was where it would happen.
"I don't know why you'd even wear makeup," Matt went on, "when your already painfully beautiful without it."
"Stop that!" Lyra chastised, having to turn her face away to conceal the seriously red flood of blood to her face.
"Well then. Shall we get going?" he said, starting the truck and shifting into gear. "If we wait any longer it's going to be dark by the time we get there."
"Out the driveway, take a left," she said. Lyra was well aware that Matt had lived here as a young man, but did he know about the bridge outage that had happened just last year. She told him about it, then explained, "The State used an eminent domain claim to get access across some property, connecting Highway 90 to Young Road and back to 90 again."
They headed out, and needing something to do to keep her mind of her desires, Lyra dug through the picnic box to see what Rosie had made for them. She would scan the countryside, point out newer things, ask Matt he remembered older things, and anything else to occupy her mind. When they reached the first recreational area, she gestured him to the entrance, which this time of the year was still closed.
"Right there, see it?" she said as she pointed toward the long string of space boulders lining the driveway to keep people out in place of additional fences. "Those two there, the ones with the black spray paint marks on them. If you line up between them, you'll have about two inches on each side of the truck to get through."
If Matt took a look, he'd see the impressions in the ground from where others had discovered the excessive gap between the two boulders. Lyra warned playfully, "Don't hit the rocks. Grampa Bill'll be pissed if you scratch his truck!"
They got between the rocks to the parking lot and down to the water's edge. "C'mon, I'll show you just why I'm not swimming in that!" She hopped out and ran down to the water's edge, scanning her surroundings. It was beautiful here, so natural looking, even if it was a manmade lake.
Long before Lyra's time, the original river had been lined with homes and acres upon acres of land that had once been covered in timber but had since been logged. Lyra had seen old black-and-white pictures of the upper stretches of the Vizcaino River, and it hadn't been pretty; there had been very little natural or wild about it.
Now, though, with a multitude of restrictions on development, the shoreline of the Red Bluff Reservoir was very wild and very beautiful. There had been plans to log most of the forest, particularly since the Toland Lumber Company had been so important to the city. But TCL had logged most of what became the reservoir over the previous decades, and this time around they'd said no to logging.
The irony was that if the Robert Richardson Fund hadn't come in and destroyed Toland Corporation, Inc., this area might very well have been logged, in part or in whole. It was the only good thing to come out of the middle of the Three Strikes.
Stepping out of her shoes and pulling her dress up to her thighs, Lyra stepped slowly out into the water of the reservoir; she whined at the cold as it consumed more and more of her legs, all the way up past her knees. (OOC: Imagine this in water.) She turned to look back at Matt, an expression of combined shock and joy on her face.
