grneyedwench's blog: "One of my stories!!!"

MSD: Night Seventeen It had been a long day. She was sitting in her cubicle, in front of her computer, working late due to an emergency in work load because, apparently, her department had stolen a new I.T. guy from their sister division across town. It has caused some “restructuring.” She’d even worked through lunch to help her team finalize the trimester reports. So, now it was 6:30 pm and all she could think about was a large steak… well, maybe one other nice piece of meat… She giggled to herself, not really wanting to keep her mind from wandering down the now-familiar thought path. Since the dream in her living room just five nights before, she had become… used to the idea of her dream lover. I mean, beggars can’t be choosers, right? She’d decided to just enjoy it, “take it as it comes,” so to speak. The rumble in her stomach brought her mind back the here and now… I’ve got to get something in me… In the deli section of the grocery store, she looked, unimpressed, at the selection of pre-made dinners… Never what you want when you want it… She grabbed a turkey sandwich, thought twice about it, put it down and grabbed a shrimp ring, headed for the beverage aisle for a lovely Reisling to enjoy with dinner, went back to produce to get a lemon and found the center section had a bay of strawberries on special. The temptation was too great to pass up. She melted some butter, wedged the lemon, hulled the strawberries and poured the wine. She sat down in the living room floor to eat, the lights turned down, a single candle flickering on top of the entertainment center… The clock on the DVD player read 8:52 pm… Just in time for CSI… She dribbled lemon juice on the shrimp, dipped one in the butter… Delicious… A sip of wine… Two more shrimp, a little Horatio, more wine, another shrimp… Then she heard her name. Her eyes flew open. Her stomach clenched, not in hunger. She drank in the sight of him in nothing but lounge pants, a can of whipped cream in his hands. Now, where did those strawberries go? He closed the distance between them to kneel beside her. He smiled that warm smile and she felt… safe… hot… chilled… and naughty. He plucked a berry out of the bowl, put just a taste of whipped cream on it, raised it to her mouth, but before he allowed her a bite, he traced the shape of her lips, outlining them with cream. As she swallowed the sweetness , he kissed her to share the flavors. Mmmm, he moaned, I’ve been craving something sweet. Another berry, more cream, this one leaving a trail down her neck. His soft tongue made quick work of that mess while his hands unbuttoned her pajama top. One more berry that he used to tease her, its coolness pressed against her hardening nipple until his tongue took over that to… The heat from his body washed over her in waves, in contrast to the chilled fruit blazing a path along her skin. He dipped it into her navel for a brief second, just enough to give her goosebumps as he chuckled against her skin. You are so mean… If you think that’s mean, watch this… And with that he tucked his hands under and lifted her onto the couch, sliding her boyshorts off in one fell swoop. Now, this is mean… He picked up the whipped cream can, gave her that smile, put one quick burst of cold against the warmest part of her. He sat back for a second, while she could feel the cream melting down her lips, until he leaned in with the ferocity of a starving man and his mouth took possession of her. She flung her head back, taking in the sweet sensations driving her to the edge. His tongue wiggled inside her, opening her just enough to allow the orgasm to crash over her, eyes closed, breathing stopped, until she released the air she was holding in the form of a moan. God, I love the way you look when you come… She gazed down at him, imploring him with her eyes to fill her. He couldn’t resist that unspoken challenge, rose to his knees, slid his pants down, brought her cheeks to the edge of the cushion, positioned himself just at the outside, and slid home. Her eyes widened, taking in the sight of him plundering her, feeling him hit the deepest recesses of her with each stroke. Fuck me, she gasped, please keep fucking me… His hands went under her, lifting her to get a deeper angle… Yes, oh, God, yes!!! I’m going to fill you with cum, baby… The heat of his orgasm sent her spiraling into her third of the night, melting in the furniture, his relaxed body covering hers as they both caught up with their breathing… This is most beautiful thing I’ve ever known… his voice rumbled against her shoulder, You are the most beautiful thing… She didn’t have the words to tell him in return, didn’t know how, sleep was pulling her under. As she breathed in, she could have sworn she heard him say I’ll see you tomorrow, love… Horatio had caught up with the bad guy, her shrimp had gotten room temperature, but those strawberries were still terribly cool as she picked up her dinner plate, put the whipped cream back in the refrigerator and grabbed her pajama top of the floor. Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow…

MSD: Night Twelve What a freakin’ night… he leaned against the door frame of his second-floor walk-up, not sure if he had the energy to finish the walk through the opening, even if it was Sara Evans on the video channel he had left playing. It had been a shitty day at work, “one of those days,” and he had decided at 3 o’clock that Happy Hour at the bar down the street from his house sounded like something he couldn’t pass up. Even the idea of running home to spend the evening in deep contemplation of the past two weeks’ worth of dreams, those hot, sexy, erotic, steamy, obscene, sensual dreams, mmm, dreams… wasn’t enough to keep him from a pitcher or three of something domestic, light, and cold. Despite his crappy day, and despite the alcohol in his system, or maybe a little because of both, he sat down at his computer to continue the list of details from those incredible dreams he’d started working on after, like, the seventh consecutive night. He thought it might help him figure out what was really going on, what these dreams were about, what was causing them. The beach scene screensaver from his vacation to St. John reminded him of her eyes, that Caribbean-ocean blue that was as much green as blue, the shades of almost-sunset mirrored the layered colors of her hair, all streaky with blondes and reds. And her smile was just as sweet as the fresh-off-the-tree pineapple he ate for breakfast there. After a half-sigh of resignation, he moved the mouse to bring up the screen, double-clicked the word processor, and began to let his mind run back over the last twenty-four hours. He got as far back as the bar before something odd struck him. While sitting at the end of the bar, talking shit with the old-timers and playing a game of video poker, he had heard a voice, a laugh, really, that had made him lose concentration. There weren’t that many people in the bar, just the regular dart throwers and a couple of groups of office-dwellers that came in to this bar on occasion because they rarely blared the music and it was a good place to have a conversation. It was from that end of the room that he caught snatches of a heated debate, some woman not wrongly telling off some guy, you could tell by looking at him that he was the office asshole, that his opinions were uneducated and outdated. He couldn’t see her, Willie the bartender was in his way, but he could tell by the reactions of the few he could see that she was doing a good job of giving him what for. He had always admired a woman that could and would speak her mind, so he leaned to the side to get a glimpse. She was just out of his line of sight, though, when it hit him. The voice sounded so familiar, made him stop in his tracks… Not again… He stood up, scanning the room quickly, even as Bob sitting next to him grumbled at him to finish his game, they were tied up for points. The last of the group was filing out the door as he rushed the length of the building only to catch a flash of bright hair getting into a cab and the remnants of a good-bye as the car door closed. He didn’t know if it had been her, Damn it all to hell, but it was too close to be merely coincidence. Back in his computer chair, he closed his eyes for a moment, rested his head on his joined hands, then leaned back, rolling his head from the front around to tilt back and then to the front again in order to stretch and relax the muscles. When he opened his eyes back to the screen, a flash of color brought his gaze to the door. And she’s wearing purple velvet, was the first thing that popped into his head. The smile on her face, the kind that says I’m bad and you love it, caused the next thought… I hope it’s a long night… She sashayed across the room, because it wasn’t just a walk, it was much, much more. She got right next to him in the chair, picked up his hand, ran it over her stomach so the texture of the velvet nightie tingled against his fingertips straight to his groin, brought that hand to her lips, took his index finger into her so-warm mouth and sucked like it was the best lollipop she’d ever had. Then, as his capacity for rational thought dissipated like smoke on the breeze, she said what he had known was true, I didn’t get to say good night to you… She turned the chair to face her, hiked up the nightie to the point where his imagination told him he caught a peek at what was underneath, but his head told him otherwise, and straddled him, rolling her hips up his lap in a way that he thought only belly dancers could move. She smelled so good, like a combination of light spring, warm vanilla, and spice, something hot on the tongue, but smooth going down. She tossed her hair back out of her face, off to the side, and leaned in, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips before they touched the inch of skin just under his ear lobe that made him absolutely crazy. She pressed against him, her nipples like pebbles under the velvet that kept catching on his shirt. Let’s make you more comfortable, hmmm? Her breath was hot in his ear, her voice pitched so low that he strained to hear it from just an inch away. Her hands came up between their bodies, starting at the top button and working down, his shirt peeling from his chest as if by its own volition. She eased back, slid her hands under the fabric, not quite touching his skin, moved the shirt back off his shoulders. He helped by moving first his right arm, then his left, until the skin of his naked back rippled from the chilled air before she pressed him back in to the fabric of the chair. She leaned back, as if to survey her handiwork, You have to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, her hands resumed their roaming over his exposed skin, leaving comet-trails of heat in their wake, or felt… His eyes rolled closed in response to her voice. She was like every fantasy and wet dream he’d ever had come to life, so to speak. When her tongue laved across his nipple, he did the only thing he could… he gave himself over to absolute pleasure. He reached up to take hold of her waist, to take back a little control of the situation. She stopped him by sliding her hands along his arms to his wrists, circling there and pressing down, Grab the arm rests and don’t let go, or this is over. God, that hot breath in his ear just reminded him of her hot breath somewhere else. She pulled back to look in his eyes, and it was obvious that she knew exactly what he was thinking about and didn’t mind at all. When she was sure his hands were well attached to their commanded posts, she leaned back in, barely far enough to skim his chest with her velvet one, and then she was gone. Standing in front of him, she propped one leg on the chair between his legs and stretched forward like a dancer, her hair and fingers trailing up, drawing his eyes further, further, rewarding him with a glimpse of her… oh, god, her hairless puss. That thought had a second to ram his brain before she moved back to recline on the arm of the couch. Propped up against the cushioned back, she pulled one leg up to expose all of her bald beauty to him. Don’t let go, she admonished, as he was about to do exactly that. One of her long fingers wagged at him in agreement with her voice, while the other one slid up and down her swollen, slippery slit. That lucky hand got to spread open those red lips, lips begging for a kiss. His eyes, alone, feasted on the sight of her, dripping wet. The other hand was jealous of the fun being had , so it joined it, the one finger again, making soft little circles around her stiff clit, making her head fall back and her breathing change. She started moving a little faster, a little faster, her slick hand easing its fingers into that wet, wet hole, her back arching. It wasn’t long before her head snapped up, her eyes bright fucking green, staring into his… Get over here and eat my pussy, baby, or I’m going to cum without you. Oh, sweet Jesus, thank you! His tongue burned as he took over the manipulation of her clit, two fingers sliding deep up her, and just like that, she came all over his face, so wet he could feel it dripping down his chin, the muscle spasms in her pussy drawing his hand further inside her than he thought possible. She relaxed to the point he had to take hold of her hips to keep her on the couch. He pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit one last time to see how she reacted, the spasms redoubling for one last push and her whole body giving over to one final shudder. Her eyes opened to meet his and he knew that she would give him anything he wanted. In this case, all he wanted was to bury himself in her great heat. Looking at her, prone like that, was too much. His pants took themselves off, his cock sprang free. He turned her so her feet hit the ground, her ass in the air, bent over the arm of the couch. One cheek in each hand, he opened her enough to slip in and rammed home. Even though he wanted to go a little slower, each thrust brought him to the edge of orgasm and back. He knew it wasn’t going to be long, no amount of baseball stats could change that, so he fucked her, fucked her deep and hard, her high-pitched grunts and squeals letting him know he wasn’t doing it wrong. She hit a note he had never heard in nature and the flood started again, his sac dripping now, and it was so over. He slammed home one last time, hit the grasping cervix, milking him and gave it all he had, filling that sweet pussy with boiling cum, not moving again until gravity forced him to lean over her, his arm snaking around her waist in a show of intimacy and necessary for the not-falling-over. A couple of seconds later, as his dick started to deflate, every centimeter it withdrew, her pussy spasmed and tried to draw him back into her. Those last few inches were the most exquisite hell he’d ever felt. Finally, he moved around her to sit on the couch, pulled her over onto his lap, rested his head on her shoulder. Her hand stroked the back of his head, I knew it would be good, but not I-can’t-fucking-move-good… Back at you, he smiled and kissed the top of her tit. He woke up a little while later, stretched out on the couch, his chin a little dry and flaky, and a smile on his face you couldn’t knock off with a hammer. This chick was too-fucking-much. He was going to find her…

MSD: Night Twelve - her side... She kicked her apartment door open far enough to sway through it, keys dangling in the lock as she breathed the familiar air. She kept her outlets filled with those plug things in her favorite scent, Warm Vanilla Sugar. Mmm, she thought in her impaired state, I love coming home. Not that she didn’t enjoy going out; she wasn’t necessarily a party animal, but she could hold her own on a group outing. It was just that in the last handful of days, her time alone had been spent pondering the mystery of her dreams. She had begun keeping a dream journal about a week into it, just to see if there were any similarities, any unifying facts, any hint as to who this man was and why this was happening to her. All she knew so far was that he was handsome, not in a Wrangler-butted, dirty cowboy way, nor was he a preppy, up-scale business type. Hell, he wasn’t even big-brother-of-your-best-friend-during-your-teenage-years adorable. But he was. He was all of those things in one fine deep brunet, sweet green-eyed, winsome-smiled, Grand-Canyon-dimpled, muscled-but-not-body-builder-big package. Oh, and what a package, she couldn’t help herself from thinking as that last round of mojitos kicked in, hard. As she’d left her office that afternoon, hurrying home to her cozy oasis to dwell on the mystery of her REM-state love life, she’d been stopped by a group of co-workers headed to the corner bar for some happy hour relaxation. Even though, and maybe because, her mind had been working over-time, she thought, Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t a coincidence. I should go… And off she went, sitting around, discussing the social and economic ramifications of the latest tragedy to hit the nation and the undeniably downward spiral of the state of the world today. The conversation sounded pretentious, probably, high-brow to be sure, but when mixed with alcohol, everything made sense. Of course, four hours and not so few drinks later, she was sitting on her couch, heels askew on the floor, stockinged legs propped on the cushions, videos playing on the TV, and she remembered. She remembered the sensation of someone watching her while she debated the status of poverty level and the disappearing middle-class with the balding, chauvinist pig from two cubicles down. She’d done the glance-around thing, like she was trying to get a second opinion on her opinion, but she couldn’t see anyone watching her, no one from the few groups of society cross-section; a couple of older men, looked like regulars, talking with the bartender and playing a couple of those bar video games; a table full of business suits doing just what she and her friends were, letting loose of the office; more than a handful of people throwing darts for their weekly competition night. So she ignored it… until it felt like she was being penetrated by someone’s eyes. On her couch, she sighed… that was the word for it, she had felt penetrated, had actually felt herself getting wet, her lips open and her walls tighten in preparation for… penetration. Her mind clouded, not entirely due to the intoxication, then cleared. He was in the room with her. She sat up, unheeding of her black pinstriped skirt that rode up her thighs to show the tops of her nude thigh-highs and ignorant of the fact that her white satin blouse was gaping open to just below the silver lace detail on the front of her bra. He smiled as he knelt down before her, that smile that says Oh, the naughty things I’m going to do to you. I was watching you. His hand slid up from her ankle the length of her leg, ending at just the top of stocking, fanning across, and brushing the very sensitive skin of her inner thigh before making his way back down and repeating on the other side. How can anyone be so intelligent and so unbelievably hot at the same time? He leaned forward and replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing every few inches, lingering on that creamy skin normally covered by cloth, working back down, but not before he used his tongue to caress the indention in the back of her knee. It was him at the bar, she mentally smacked her forehead. I knew it! But her little tirade at herself was interrupted by his hands tucking under her thighs and lifting, putting her cheeks at the edge of the cushion. I have dreamed of this… Her skirt wasn’t in the way, because it was around her waist. The white and silver panties moved to the side so easily, they must have wanted what was coming as much as she did. When his mouth was close enough for her to feel him exhale, her legs opened, fell outward to allow him access. And when his tongue made its first sweep up the length of her, she let loose the breath she’d been holding for what felt like an eternity. Slowly, slowly, he parted her with both tongue and fingertips, his breath so hot against her skin, he seemed the proverbial dragon. He was certainly patient, worrying the center of her tension with the point of his tongue with perfect strength and consistency, until he decided to tease her and enter her creaming chasm to keep her in anticipation of the near future before returning his wet mouth to continue its productive torture. As her orgasm built, her breathing became shallow and she had to fight the urge to close her eyes. The sight of him between her legs, the rasp of his five-o-clock shadow, the feel of his soft hair, Only guys have hair that soft no matter how many products women use, was just what she’d been waiting for. It was too much, and mere seconds before she would lose control of her body, he pulled away, Wait for me… He pulled her off the couch, on to his kneeling form, her legs wrapped around him so that there was no space between their bodies. His hands eased her shirt over her head and pulled her to him, her face in his neck as his was in hers. She let her tongue wander across the expanse of scented skin, lapping and licking her way to that spot where shoulder and neck converge and then pulling a mouthful of him in, sucking gently with a hint of force until she felt him take his cue and return the favor on the other side. In the midst of this, he adjusted her seat until his cock, impossibly hard and throbbing with the beat of his heart, was between them. She broke off the kiss and looked into the question in his eyes. Do you want to go on? That he would even ask was proof to her of his sincerity. In response, she shifted herself, up and then down, so wet that no extra motion was needed. The heat from his skin entering her was unbelievable; she felt like she was burning from the inside as she slid down, enveloping his pulsing shaft until the head was bumping her cervix and her clit was pressed against his pelvic bone. Lord have mercy, she thought, I have never been this full… Just wait, it gets better…She heard the laughter, the smile and the truth in his voice. Did I say that out loud? But then she didn’t care so much as he reached around and took her ass in his hands. He rotated her in small circles on his dick, her legs wrapped around his waist to cross under his butt, holding her to him so that there was no way to pull back, no way to get the motion of withdrawal and the sensation of him plunging back in. She clung to him as the stimulation on her nerve center began to finish the job that his tongue had started. Her orgasm remembered where it had been interrupted and rapidly climbed back to that pinnacle, spurred by his movements. She threw her head back, enjoying the depth and stretching feeling. You are so tight. I could be in you forever. At this point, the idea of forever sounded terrific, but her body had other ideas. Her eyes flew open, her muscles tightened, her breathing stopped… Look at me. I want to see your eyes while you come… Better be looking now… Her breath exploded from her in the form of a long moan. Her body vibrated with the force of her orgasm. His hands took her by the waist, pulled her as far onto him as possible, Oh, my God, you are incredible. The fullness increased as he poured himself in her depths. She slumped forward, her head resting on his shoulder, his cheek pressing against her breast, the remnants of his hardness twitching inside her making her clench in return. That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt, he kissed her nipple ever so lightly and looked up at her. Back at you, she giggled, still intoxicated, but now on heat and sex. I can’t believe this is true. She closed her eyes and held on… When she woke up a little while later, videos still on the TV, shoes still in the floor, she was no longer on the couch, but laying in the floor where he had been in her dream. This is getting out of control, she chided herself as she pulled herself up using the arm of the couch. Just then, she realized that her shirt was laying on the wing chair and her skirt was around her waist. As she stood, the wetness between her legs had soaked her panties and run down to the tops of her stockings. It was just a dream, right?

MSD: Night Seven - His story He hadn’t jacked off this much in one week since he had fallen in lust with that blonde chick from Bon Jovi’s “Bad Medicine” video, the one that flashed her extremely nice tits at the band. He had never wanted to be a rock star as bad as at that moment. But instead, here he was, with Bon Jovi on the radio and this dream re-playing in his head. The woman, she felt like she was really there when he dreamt of her, she just wasn’t next to him when he woke up. This afternoon, he had stopped to buy his mom a bouquet of daisies for her birthday, one for every year she’d lived. He had looked up in time to see her eyes, the mysterious changing blue-green color (they always turned green as she came in his dreams) flashing. Her eyes had slid him over and then were gone, the gold and red hints in her hair visible in the dappled sunlight. Seeing her, and it had to be her, had startled him so badly that he had just paid for his flowers and practically run away. He had still been willing his woodrow down as his and his mother’s lunches were being served. The idea that she had been so close, if it was her, really her… Why had he run away? And tonight’s dream had to be more that just late-night Chinese food revisited… Open your eyes. There she’d been, in a big, old claw-foot tub, big enough for two, surrounded by daisies, like that young chick in roses from the Kevin Spacey film, the one that won all the awards, American Beauty. Daisies were clinging to her, their scent reminding him of the field where he used to hide in the summer. She picked up a flower by its stem, licked the outer edges of the petals: Where do you want me to put this? She rose out of the tub, creamy, white blooms strategically placed, sticking to her skin. She pulled him to her, sank back into the tub, the crushed flowers giving off an intoxicating smell. Her teeth grasped his boxers and led them toward the floor. She looked up at him, a smile on her face: Or maybe I should ask, where do you want me to put this? She inhaled him, swirled her tongue around the head and took him so deep in her mouth she was using her tongue to lap at his balls. She pulled him into her throat, using her muscles to milk him, faster, faster, she moved up and down, her tongue never stopping, her breath hot and gasping. She was working him, so hard, so light, so fast, he didn’t have time to get ready, didn’t have time to tell her to slow down, he wanted to enjoy this, no time to tell her any of the hot phrases he thought she would want to hear, or should hear: Come for me. It had to have come from in his mind because her lips never unwrapped from his dick. He started to shudder, a short series, until it grew and grew, until he felt like the back of his head exploded out the end of his cock. This was insane. He had to meet her, to touch her once in person, because she just had to exist somewhere…

MSD: Night Seven - Her story One solid week of this! How could anybody come so hard every night for a week? The radio was playing a recognizable eighties song, Bon Jovi’s “Bad Medicine.” She chuckled to herself, remembering that this wasn’t the first time she’d had great sex, alone or with a partner, to this song. This dream guy, his green eyes, haunted her. She had thought she’d seen him during lunch today, buying a huge bouquet of daisies. She’d stopped almost dead, had spilled her soda, but managed to keep hold of her sandwich and book. She’d been bent over as he paid and walked away. She had turned around in time to see him going. A cheesy cliché had run through her mind: I’d wish I had a swing like that in my backyard. I’d take it apart and see how many screws I could get out of it. But seeing this person, so like her dream lover, had caused some uncomfortable wetness that she’d had to run back to the office and lock herself in the bathroom to take care of. And now, tonight, this new dream had taken her to a yet higher level. He had been holding that giant bouquet of daisies in front of his naked self. Pulling a single flower out, he had put it to his nose, a sensual act: Close your eyes. The tingles started to chase each other up her spine and slide back down to find home base in the heat of her wet walls. The delicate touch of those white petals crossing her lips, tickling the lobe of her ear, traveling down her neck, the subtle, haunting scent of the daisy, filling her senses, her mind, her body. Her satin nipples strained to meet the velvet of the flower as he swung it in small circles over her flesh. The petals kissed her skin further, further down, slipped into her navel, searching for the center of the radiant heat. Lower still, the flower slid between her thighs, that butterfly-like touch caressing her most intimate parts. Again, he brought the now dew-covered bloom to his face, inhaled: You smell sweet as a daisy. Even in sleep, she didn’t know if she could handle this sensual assault… Would she ever find her dream lover?

Midsummer Nights’ Dreams - His side How much longer could this go on? For the third night in a row, he woke up so hard that all it would take to finish would be touch it. Damn, but she was hot! Her voice rang in his head: Please! Please fuck me! Her hands were so smooth, her mouth was… inviting. Man, he’d like to meet her, whoever she was, to see if she was as good as he thought she’d be. He got out of bed, went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, took a swig from the soda bottle without getting a glass. The bubbles exploded in his stomach, sending tingles through him. He made his way back to bed, thought he could smell her, the musky scent that only warm pussy can give off. He closed his eyes, saw her face, imagined her pink lips open, waiting for him to put his dick between them. He took hold of it, sliding his fingers up-and-down, like she would. Like she would, faster, faster, he could even see her gorgeous hair as it lay on his legs, feel her breath on his sac, oh, God, she was good, you’re so good, don’t stop, don’t stop, please, don’t! As his breathing returned to normal, he grabbed a shirt off the floor to clean up. There was her voice in his head again: There’s no need, baby; I’m an eleven. I swallow. Her chuckle lulled him back to sleep.

Midsummer Nights’ Dreams - Her Night 1 It was the third night in a row. She woke up, her heart pounding, the sheets wet with her sweat… and her lips waiting for his kiss. The dream was vivid and always the same. His voice calling her, his hands on her skin… she shivered in the breeze from the air conditioning, but it wasn’t because of the cold. She tried to rationalize this, figure out what the dream meant. She didn’t think she knew him but, if he really existed, she wanted to. She got up, flipped on the bathroom light, got a glass of water, drank it so fast she could feel the drops spill out the sides of her mouth and down her naked chest. She looked in the mirror and saw his face. Her breath started to come faster, her nipples puckered and hardened. She clicked the switch to dark, made her way back to bed. As she lay down and pulled the blankets on her, her fingers brushed the straining flesh of her breasts. She heard his voice: You are so hot. Her hands squeezed, molded, dug fingers in to make tracks in her own skin. One hand fluttered, made its way to the hot, wet vortex between her legs. She rubbed and flicked and humped and pushed, her fingers making her nerves sing and dance like a techno-discotheque. His voice urged her on: Come for me. I want to taste you. You look so beautiful with your fingers buried in your pussy. Here it comes, I want to wait, I want… I want to come, Oh, Please! Please! “I want to fuck you.” YYyeeesssssssssssss!