Bend Me Over the Bed

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It’s a long drive to and from work. Well, probably not the longest as far as time and mileage go. But to me (and this story is about me, after all), it can sometimes crawl by if I focus on too many of the familiar roadside details. When I pass by the smokestack I’m only about a third of the way there; if I pass under the underpass that looks like a space ramp, I still have another 25 solid minutes. And trust me when I say that I’ve tried several ways to speed it all up … including pushing the speed limits. It’s only ever made about an 8-minute difference.


So, I do what I can to distract myself, to zone out about all of the familiar landmarks until the one just a tiny bit from home suddenly appears outside of my windshield. When I pass by the barn whose owners have decorated it for the appropriate season, I rejoice. Yay! Home in five!

In the meantime, however, I have to find a way to entertain myself. And let me just say that books on CD aren’t always the answer. Sometimes all it takes for the drive to flash by is remembering how I was pleasured earlier by you.

One more thing, though.

OK, OK! I apologize! I’m suppose to be explaining why I’m sharing my story and not darting off into a thousand more side tales. I can’t help it. I embrace this tendency of overexplanation as just another almanbahis of my endearing traits. Because the payoff is always so much, much more worth your patience.

But this is the time I should mention my drive home is in the wee hours, and there are few others on the road. I do know enough to be careful on the weekends and not take this trip completely zoning from my mind; drunks are out all days, and not just on the weekends. This was a Thursday. I knew where the cops were hidden. I DID watch, vaguely, for drunks on the side of the road.

It was a vague glance, though, because I needed to relieve myself. Relieve the boredom. By remembering the morning with you. And that meant unbuttoning my jeans, setting cruise control, tipping the seat back, and sliding my nondriving hand into my panties.

Because I needed some relief from the completely arousing memories of this morning with you. By reliving these memories as I rub my fingers over my pussy lips, feeling these lips gasp forth liquid that I can coat my fingers with and then thrust into myself.

I remember you, and I remember our morning together.


It’s SO fucking early:) But I’m willing to make this sacrifice because I completely want you. Because I am in love with you, despite all of my reservations, and almanbahis giriş because my apparent walls fall down when you talk to me. It turns out … I’m weak with the wanting of you. You, just you. No one else has ever made me want to just throw off all reservations and dive in. You do this for me.

It’s just a bit past the first light tendrils painting themselves across the sky … just lighting this morning … when my phone alarm goes off and I silly-stumble into the shower/bath to shave my legs and underarms. Scrub those same places as well as my face and pussy with a sweet-smelling soap.

Then I dance, naked, into my room, a towel draped around my body, a towel I throw off before flouncing onto my bed on my back.

I am completely naked, completely clean … except.

Except I am thinking about YOU, and my pussy spasms a bit. Pushes forth a bit of cum-cream. Except do women make cum-cream?


Yeah they do.

I do.

I’m waiting for the buzz of my cell phone that signals your immediate arrival, so I know I can throw on a shirt or something to cover up my wanton shame before I meet you at my front door:) hee hee. NOT shame. Not shame at all.

I want you. Every part of my body wants you, even if I didn’t know it.

And then the cell phone buzz almanbahis yeni giriş arrives.

So I skip down the stairs, make some silly conversation through the door, and then open it.

And it’s you.

But you need to understand this yearning I have. You need to be wanting me to the EXACT level I want you. But, um, no pressure.

No expectation.

So I walk in front of you up into my bedroom, close the door behind us.

You are looking at me with your puppy-dog eyes. You want me.

I want you, too, but we both need to wait.

You step forward and I giggle a bit with the anticipation of what I am about to put you through. Because you reach out your hands for me, and I take a step back. I waggle a finger at you, a nonverbal unh-unh!, and grin at your confused-face response.

I smile and then point. Slowly point. To a spot on my cheek.

You look at me in confused response, and I lick my lips, make a kissing motion with the same-said, and then again point.

There’s a complete moment of you Getting It.

You grin.

And then your lips part, just the tip of your tongue appears between your lips, and you press all of the above onto my cheek.

And pull back, triumphant.

And reach for me once again.

And, again, I scold.


Not yet.

I meet your eyes with my own, feel a bit of a grin threatening my calm exterior, sigh, and then grasp a hank of my hair. Pull it away from my face. From the left side of my face. With spread-apart fingers that tremble very subtly. Exposing my ear and neck.

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