I’m already sweating before the halfway point. The sun’s out, hard and bright. Air’s still thin from the climb. My body moves without hesitation. I’ve done this so often now I don’t think about the steps. My thighs burn. My calves stretch. My core pulls tight with each shift of weight. 

My body knows what’s coming. It wants it.

I reach the flat before the ridge and drop my pack against a boulder. I pull off my boots and socks one at a time. Finally, I press both feet flat into the earth and breathe. The ground is dry and warm. Grit and dust cling to my soles. It’s perfect.

Every step forward from here is thick with tension. I don’t rush. The wind catches my hair and slides over my skin. I’m so aware of my body, I could scream.

The ridge still isn’t visible. I have to climb for it. I always love this part.

I grip the stone, both hands firm, fingers finding the edges I know by heart. My nails dig in. My biceps pull. I can feel the smooth, familiar handholds. It’s like touching an old friend or lover. My chest heaves against the tight fabric of my bra. My thighs tensed. My back arched. Sweat trickled down my temple and between my breasts, but I didn’t wipe it away. I welcomed the burn. Loved the stretch of my limbs. Loved how utterly alive, powerful, capable, and aroused.

I reached the final ledge, heart pounding, not just from exertion.

I pull myself up. The ridge is wide, exposed, and silent. Sky above me. Trees below. Untouched. Unseen. It’s entirely possible I was the only person to ever have been on this little scrubby strip of rock overlooking the forests. 

The wind touched my skin before I even started. As if it knew what was coming. 

I eagerly pulled my top over my head and let the air wrap around me. The sun poured across my chest, the warm rays bathing my skin. I unclasped my bra and let it fall. My breasts lifted into the open, nipples tightening the moment the breeze swept over them. I held still, just breathing, letting the heat and the wind claim me in slow turns.

I slid my shorts down my legs, soft against my skin, and stepped out of them, standing there in my knickers. They were damp against me. This was a ritual I was well familiar with, and my body had developed an almost Pavlovian response to this place by now. I slipped them down slowly, letting the air reach everywhere I’d kept hidden all day.

I stood bare. Completely. The sky above, the stone beneath, and the forest stretched out below. My skin flushed, alive, waiting.

I lowered myself onto the warm ground. The rock was warm under my back, smooth in some places, and rough in others. Where the sun hadn’t reached, it was cool. My body responded all at once. I arched slightly, a quiet gasp leaving my lips. As I said, almost Pavlovian. 

I opened my legs. The breeze moved between them, gentle at first. It brushed over my folds, slow and teasing, and my breath caught. I was wet already, and the wind found that heat and played against it. My thighs trembled. My hips tilted upward. I couldn’t keep still.

I let the air explore me. It was as if the wind itself was trying to seduce me. 

It passed over my breasts, over the tight peaks of my nipples. It stroked the soft, swollen skin between my legs. The way it moved made me ache. I felt wide open, aching, and ready. My fingers drifted down and parted myself further. The breeze slipped across my most sensitive vale, and I moaned, quiet and raw.

I slowly dragged my fingers through the soft folds of my labia, slow and wet. The wind met me there, cooled the heat of me just enough to send sparks racing up my thighs. I moaned, low and deep, the sound pulled straight from my belly. It carried, I knew it did. There was no one here to hear it, no one to hush me, so I didn’t hold back. Letting my cries mix with the sounds of nature stretching across the ridge before being scattered by the wind.

I pressed harder. Slid lower. Dipped just inside. My walls fluttered at the contact. The ground beneath me was solid and cool; the heat of my body flowed into the earth, connecting me with the world. My moans broke apart. Short, desperate, hungry echoing over the hills. The breeze kept teasing my skin, never letting me go quiet.

I could smell the earth all around me. Dry stone. Crushed pine. My own musky scent rising with the heat from between my legs. I breathed it all in and let it mix inside me.

I moved my fingers faster. Rubbed in tight circles. Slipped inside again, then out, then over. My hips rolled with the rhythm. I opened wider. I wanted the sky to see everything. I wanted the world to hear everything. I cried out, sharp and clear, the cry resonating through my whole body and flowing out to reverberate with the wonder of nature around me.

I slowed, circling the tips of my fingers around my clit. Just light pressure, small movements. My moans started as deep groans, quiet at first, then louder as I found the rhythm. The wind didn’t stop. It worked with me, gusting over my nipples, and the slight teasing friction was just enough to make my hips jerk.

I was so close. My body shook with it. Every muscle pulled tight. My fingers never stopped. Pressure built fast and sharp, right under the surface.

The heat inside me built, spreading low through my belly, between my legs, and behind my ribs. It coiled tighter with every stroke of my fingers, every roll of my hips into my own hand. My breath turned ragged, lips parted, and throat raw from the moans that kept spilling out of me.

I was soaked. My fingers slid through it, slow at first, then faster, stroking the slick folds, drawing circles around the aching knot of nerves that throbbed under every touch. 

I opened wider. I wanted the air between my legs. I spread myself with one hand and rubbed with the other, firm, precise, and relentless. My clit throbbed under every pass. My whole body turned inward, stretched taut around the pressure growing too large to hold.

The sound of my pleasure filled the air. Breathless cries that cracked open with need. I let them go. I gave them to the wind, to the ridge, to the trees. I didn't care how loud I was. I wanted the whole valley to echo with it.

My fingers slipped deep inside, hard and fast, soaked with my own want. My muscles clenched around them, tight and hungry, pulling them in. My palm crushed against my clit with each thrust, and I was right there.

My orgasm hit in a wave so fierce it took the breath from my chest. My back arched off the hard stone. My cry tore out of me, raw and unstoppable. My body seized around my hand, spasmed again and again, legs kicking, heels scraping against the rock. I couldn’t stay still. I didn’t want to. I wanted to cum forever.

I moaned through every second of it. The wind caught each sound and carried it into the open. I came with the sky watching, with the ridge holding me, with the breeze brushing through the soaked, throbbing flesh between my legs and teasing every trembling inch of me.

My core clenched again as I slowed my hand. My fingers moved softer, gentler now, coaxing the last pulses of pleasure. My thighs twitched. My breath came in sobs. My body stayed spread wide and open, flushed, wet, and still buzzing.

I lay there, bare to the sky, legs still parted, fingers slick and glistening. My moans had faded into silence, but their echo lingered in the wind. My scent clung to the air, thick with sweat and sex and earth.