Last week I wore nothing but a white cotton slip and lay in the evening light which streamed in through my bedroom windows. My legs, somehow very tan looking, tangled in my white sheets and bedding.
My hands roamed over the curves of my body and I had the sudden little thrill of the epiphany that I was totally alone and within arm’s reach of my Hitachi. Oh, to be fully grown up and able to do as I please!
I switched it on and held it to my cotton-covered clit. I rode the vibrations up like the train of a roller coaster and came crashing down the other side in seconds.
The ceiling fan twirled silently above me, ever watchful and busy, but with nothing to say.
I sighed and smiled to myself letting a second epiphany come to me: I could take some late afternoon pics.
I clicked and moved, reviewed and clicked again. The light, I noticed, was almost identical to that of the morning which I am we’ll acquainted with, but it was different, warmer, longer. Like long desert shadows on my body.
I sent a few to The Neighbor and snuggled down to watch Murder She Wrote as the sun set completely.
I dreamed of nothing and everything, Jessica Fletcher’s perky, unflappable presence the dark backdrop to my dream reel.
Then I felt a warm heavy hand on my shoulder.
I opened my eyes and there was TN, leaning over me and nude with an angry-looking hardon. He kissed my shoulder and the blue glow from my laptop blinked off as he snapped it shut. He turned me roughly onto my back.
I felt as though I were still dreaming as he spread my knees with his own and sunk slowly into me. “How can you possibly be this wet?” He marveled as he felt my welcome.
I blushed. “I dunno. I came earlier…” I trailed off as he began to thrust in earnest.
He fell forward and nibbled my neck as I wrapped my legs around his cool, clean skin. My gauzy slip moved in whispers with us and maintained a strange level of modesty between us. I felt like a lusty, busty virgin.
He strained into me and contorted me for our pleasure. I cried out and bloomed once, then twice, panted and giggled, cried and begged.
He exhausted himself and collapsed on top of me, his erection stiff as ever, his semen stubbornly still in his body. I asked him of he wanted me to help him cum. He declined. “It’s not gonna happen tonight, I’m afraid.” I snuggled into his nook and squeezed him. I knew how he felt: frustrated, but still completely happy.
We talked some more and kissed. I drew patterns in his chest hair and let Faisal attack our feet; his mournful cries from outside my closed door finally answered.
He left soon after and I returned to my dreams.
In the morning, light streamed in soft and new. I stretched and felt where TN had been inside of me just hours before. I purred a little as I decide to take duplicate morning pics.
I studied the evening ones and copied my poses. Click, click, click. Soon followed by a long, hissing buzz, and a woman’s satisfied cries.
I sent him a few and rolled out of bed to get ready for my day, my night and day rolled up into a neat little loop of breasts, tangled sheets, and orgasms.