It was cold, wet, and miserable, even for a February night. The chill permeating her bones was only made worse by the fact that she was alone in the house. Both kids were over-nighting with friends so she and her husband had been looking forward to some unusual quality time alone.
As it always seems to happen, he was called in at the last hour to replace a sick associate. The disappointment that drifted through her chilled her Arizona bones almost as much as the Rocky Mountain snow outside.
She would just have to make do by herself, disappointment or not. Even in his absence she could still dream, still have some forbidden thoughts. And, after all, that new satin gown and matching thong was still in the closet.
She put them on and admired herself for a while. Not bad for thirty-six, she thought. Turning slowly from side to side, the soft curves of her breasts showed through the thin cloth and reflected from the mirror. For some reason, she couldn't seem to move away. It was if the lady in the mirror was hypnotized by her own reflection.
After a long time, her hands started moving slowly over her body, first the sensitive nipples and then down a little. Slowly her fingers moved lower, tracing her flat belly then gently down to just above the crevice that seemed to be waiting. Slowly, slowly she allowed her left hand to raise her gown. Inch by inch it came up.
She was mesmerized by it. First her knees, then her thighs reflecting back to her. He was right. She did have magnificent legs. But it was her softly tufted crotch that made her gasp. The transparent little blue thong that covered it did more to feature it rather than cover.
Somehow, even through the light gauze, she thought she could see the inner folds of her labia! She had somehow opened up with all the anticipation. Plus, her wetness had made the material even more transparent.
Finally, she allowed her right hand to slowly slide down, searching for the moist folds she knew were there. Through the leg band it moved. First the touch, then the muted gasp.
It felt good. Really good. Her fingers traced the waiting lips, her hips moving back a little as if trying to escape. She couldn't remove her eyes from the mirror.
She realized she had never done that before, never experienced the sexuality of gazing at herself in such an intimate way.
She spent fifteen minutes doing just that, just touching her breasts and pussy, not speeding up or pressing hard. Astonished and almost ashamed at how fast an impending orgasm approached, she reluctantly and slowly withdrew the source of her pleasure and gently dropped the gown down.
"What a waste," she sighed. She was slushy between her legs and wanted to feel the hardness of him so badly. And she knew it wasn't to be.
Resigned to her place in life, at least for the night, she fed the fireplace another chunk of wood and curled up on the couch with a book. It was to no avail. All that could stay in her head was the forfeited plans for the night.
It had been all so clear, so anticipated. The picture in her mind was that of all she had planned to do with him, for him. And, of course, his reaction to it. The much needed pleasure that surely would be rewarded back to her.
Those warm thoughts, starting in a hazy little dream world then trickling down to her body, easily brushed aside all other intentions. Soon her book lay forgotten, her hands choosing instead to take orders from an erotic little spark that seemed to have a life of its own. One that was growing fast.
She moved around the room a while before returning to the book, lying back on the couch. Thumbing idly through it, she had no interest, often just gazing out into space.
It was in one of those "daydreaming" periods that she reached up and started rubbing one of her nipples through her gown. She kept it up for five minutes or so until there was a visible reaction from the rest of her.
She started moving her hips slightly, the small gyrations making little circles. Finally, her hand left her nipple to wander down her body. Hesitating at her hips, she slightly lifted herself and for the second time that night her fingers begin to slowly gather the bottom of her gown.
All the way to her navel it came, finally bunched up in a loose pile around her flat stomach, in a soft blue linen pile. She moved her hand over it and then down, the contact even more sensitive than she had anticipated.
She opened her mouth slightly and a very audible moan came from her. A few minutes ago this seemed so forbidden to her. Now, it was almost a quest.
The little elastic band of her thong was no barrier for the creeping fingers.
She wasn't in any hurry to get her release, her fingers moving slowly at first then picking up speed. She wasn't exactly a stranger at doing this and she knew that her response, her pleasure, was not that far away. She wanted to make it last, though, giving her time to think of him.
She closed her eyes, lying on the couch with one leg casually off to one side with her foot on the carpet. Her body was moving openly with the pleasure her fingers were providing, her hips lifting gently off the couch as she touched herself.
A swift picture of what she must look like flashed through her mind. Legs wide open, her wet channel accepting a flurry of hard fingers. She even lifted her head slightly as if to take in the view.
"What if he were here to see me? How would he react? Would he be as aroused by it as me?" she thought as her body rolled slightly.
"What if a stranger did?" she giggled inwardly at the thought. Wouldn't that be something?
Maybe that illicit thought was the button, the trigger she needed to ignite the impending explosion. Feeling that familiar spasm deep inside her again, her stomach knotted for a second then convulsed.
It came out. Ripped out would be more like it.
Her legs stiffened and her body lifted from the couch, her mouth forming a big, silent "O" for ten seconds, then she bucked her body hard against her fingers and wailed.
.... There is more of this story ...