“Where should I put it, Ma’am?” the bald furniture-mover-man said. There was just a hint of ogle and leer in his voice. A bit of tease. Obviously she wasn’t a ‘Ma’am.’ She was twenty-two, his age, probably, and he was quite the hunk. Quite the strapping stud-muffin. The bald guy’s head looked a little like the head of a cock, for goodness sake. A little like Drew’s cock, truth be told, big and round and bold. The other one, the tawny blond, was pretty hot, too, with his swimmer’s shoulders and dancer’s hips. Yup, two hot furniture-mover-guys. Cassie smiled at them both in turn, a little bit of a flirt, a little bit of a you’re-turning-me-on smile, then, “Oh, you can leave it just where it is is fine,” implying that she had a furniture-moving-man of her own who could handle it from here.

She was a little bit turned on. She could feel that touch of liquid heaviness at her center, that hint of the raspberry buzz at the base of her clit. “So shall we attach the mirror on?” the tawny blond asked. “Sure, attach it on,” Cassie allowed. While they did their last bit of work, Cassie slipped into the kitchen to send a text message to Drew: The chest is here! Where are you? Fluffy and me is getting lonely.

“All set,” the bald one said from the living room entryway, and the blond one nodded, and the two of them sauntered out, clicking the door closed behind them. Cassie was left alone with her new dresser in her otherwise empty dream house.

Not completely empty. Not completely alone. Fluffy could be good company. Earlier the white cat had explored every corner of every room and closet and cupboard and window ledge in the brand new condo. Satisfied that it was his, he’d settled down on a rectangular patch of sunlight in the otherwise bare living room, and he’d remained there while the blond and bald furniture men did their stuff. But now he was back in the bedroom at Cassie’s bare ankle, mewing softly. “Pretty nice, hey, Fluffy,” she said, running a palm over the gleaming wood surface of the dark cherrywood dresser, smack in the middle of the nice-sized room. Perhaps misunderstanding her pat, Fluffy hopped on top of the dresser and regarded himself in the mirror. Cassie stroked the cat’s back, and he arched and purred. “Very nice,” Cassie said, her hand continuing to pet Fluffy the way he liked. “Wait, I’ll get your picture.”

The camera was on one of the window ledges. While waiting for the furniture to be delivered, Cassie had taken pictures of the shadows and light splotches on the bedroom wall, and scads of pictures of the Gulf. What a great view this place had, with a row of tall windows on two sides, the western exposure showing the wide beach and then those endless waves, well, endless at least to Mexico or Texas or whatever was out there. The afternoon light was shimmering now, and Cassie couldn’t resist another photo or two or three. “We’ll probably have to get curtains,” she told Fluffy, “or maybe not. No one can see in unless they’re in a hang glider, and it’ll be dark enough when the sun goes down. The morning light comes in the kitchen.” Fluffy looked at Cassie as if he knew all there was to know about morning light.

Camera in hand, Cassie turned, but Fluffy was suddenly not to be seen. “Hey boy, where’d you go?” She knelt down to look under the dresser. No Fluffy there. She peeked in the closet. No Fluffy there. She left the bedroom and searched every room in the house. Kitchen, living room, bathroom, and den, which might become an office or a guest room or ... well, that was thinking too far ahead. No sign of Fluffy. “Here boy, here boy, here boy,” she called out, and she made the tongue-against-teeth noises that usually brought Fluffy running, especially when there was also a freshly opened can of cat food involved. No cat food here, though, and no cat. “Okay, be that way,” Cassie said, and she went back into the bedroom. “At least you didn’t run away,” this spoken to the cherrywood dresser,” which she patted almost as if it were a cat. “Fluffy’s probably jealous,” she said to herself. “Silly cat.”

Cassie pulled out the top left drawer. It slid so smoothly. The heavy brass handle had such a solid feel to it, such a deep, impressive gleam and shine in the light coming in the tall Gulf windows. Cassie slid the drawer three-quarters shut. “Nice,” she said to herself. “Nice and smooth.” She closed the drawer all the way, and then she opened it again, noting just the smallest hint of suction as she pulled the drawer out. The barest hint of a tug. A little like sex, she thought, like the tug and suction of sex, and she tried the motion again. “Yup,” she said aloud, “this is one sexy dresser.” She set her camera on the dresser, then tried the bottom left drawer and then the top right and bottom right. All just perfect. Everything was just perfect.

Of course with clothes in it, things might be different—not that she believed that for a moment—there was a naughty twinkle to her eyes—and she pulled her blue and white striped top up over her head. Holding the tee shirt, she paused a moment to regard herself in the new mirror, her round, full, more-than-just-a little-bit-too-big-not-to-need-a-bra-but-what-the-heck breasts with soft-pink areolas and puffy, pink-tipped nipples. With her free hand she touched one nipple gently, watching in the mirror as it fattened under the prod and pressure of her fingertip. Those mover boys did make me a little hot, she thought, continuing the play with her nipple while watching in the mirror. “You’re pretty hot,” she said to herself, looking now at the reflection of her camera sitting on the dresser’s surface. It was pointing at her. “Why not?” she asked herself. Her hand moved to the other nipple, pinched it gently until it mirrored its twin. A soft “mmmm” escaped the press of her lips. Maybe she’d leave the picture taking to Drew—figuring out that self-timer was too much work for now. “Now where was I?” she mumbled, and she happened to look down and there was Fluffy, curled up in the middle right drawer, which she hadn’t even remembered opening.

“Oh, you!” she said, kneeling to give him a good-boy-bad-boy head-pat. “You silly, naughty thing, what are you doing in there?” The cat purred. “Okay, fine,” Cassie said. She opened up the upper left drawer and arranged her blue and white striped top in the clean space. “There.”

“Looking good,” she said, taking a deep breath. The inside wood of the chest smelled fresh-wood fresh. She took another breath and shut the door. “Yup, even with clothes in it, its glides smooth as silk. Like it’s just going to be the one shirt,” she added, with a little laugh. She looked at the cat. He might have been asleep.

“Sleep all day, you’ll miss all the fun,” Cassie said, and her fingers went to the button of her white linen shorts. Biting her bottom lip, looking in the mirror, Cassie thumbed the button open. Drew should film this in slo-mo, she thought. Her fingers found the small, silver zipper-tab, and she peeled it slowly down, listening for the soft click of zipper teeth and thinking of the zipper on Drew’s jeans—oh how she loved to tease him, opening his pants as slowly as possible, his handsome big cock pushing hard behind his briefs, fairly bursting for want of freedom. Cassie grinned. She shucked down her shorts and stepped out of them and with her toe opened the bottom left dresser drawer, and with her foot managed to pick up the rumple of white linen shorts and drop the garment in the open drawer. “I’m so talented,” she said to herself. “I could probably do this for a living.”

She hooked her thumbs at the waist of her pale blue panties but didn’t tug them down. She glanced in the mirror at the reflections of the windows behind her. She glanced at the row of tall windows to her right. Nope, no one could see in; you’d have to be ten feet tall or you’d have to be riding a giraffe. She wondered if anyone ever went horseback riding on the beach. That might be fun. A black horse for her, a white horse for Drew. Galloping along, surf splashing. There should be horses. Definitely! In her mental picture, she and Drew were riding bareback, and they were naked. Drew’s big cock was bobbing and bouncing as the horses galloped. Cassie supposed her breasts were bobbing and bouncing too. Maybe it was moonlight. A warm breeze. The sound of the surf. The sound of the horses snorting and whinnying as they pranced. Whee! And when they got to the end, where there was nothing but sea and sky and a small spit of comfy, mossy ground, they’d dismount, and then, while the horses nibbled sea oats, Drew would mount her, and...

Slowly, Cassie lowered her panties. She pulled them down just enough so she could see her blond muff. She pulled them back up, and then, twisting so her back was to the mirror, she pulled them down until almost all of her butt was exposed. “Drew loves my ass,” she said, half to herself in the mirror, half to the sleeping cat. “He loves to hold my Carolina ass in his hands, hold me and squeeze me and pull my ass cheeks apart, prying me open until the air hits my little asshole, and then when he lets my buns ease back you can hear the naughty squeak of my sex lips opening and closing all wet with love milk, while he kisses me, kisses me, kisses me, so hard and good, so gentle and sweet, and I can feel his cock hard against my front, and I can almost...”

Sure enough, her panties had a little wet spot. Cassie pulled open the top right drawer just enough to let the wisp of pale blue material slip through the crack. “Panty drawer,” she said with a giggle, and she closed the drawer. She looked down at the sleeping cat and shook her head. “Sweet little pussy,” she said, “you’ve had a hard day, waiting for the furniture mover men all afternoon, nothing to do but pose for pictures and sit up on the ledge watching the boring waves roll in and watching the boring seagulls fly by, and you deserve a good rest before Drew gets here. Where is he anyway? It must be past five. He said he would get off early. Maybe he’s stopping for groceries. Maybe he’s got a sack full of cans of tuna. Tuna fish, Fluffy. Moist, flakey fresh, tuna fish all for you—I wonder if there’s a can opener in the kitchen. I know there’s a wine bottle opener, but I don’t think a wine bottle opener would work on a tuna fish can. Oh, Fluffy, wouldn’t that be torture, a whole sack of tuna fish cans, and no can opener anywhere to be had? Where is that naughty-mean-forgot-to-bring-the-can-opener man, anyway? He should be here by now. Poor, poor Fluffy cat.”

Cassie strolled over to the window and looked out at the Gulf. She thought she could see a sailboat way out. With the sun at a low angle, it was hard to tell the color of the sails. Need a pair of binoculars. She and Drew would have to try sailing. The warm sea breeze luffing her hair. That was a sailor word, wasn’t it? Luff. The sleek craft gliding over the swollen sea. Miles from shore she’d take off her top, tease Drew with her bared breasts. No, no, keep your eyes on the waves, she’d say. Don’t want you running us into a sand bar or an oil tanker or a polar bear trying to flee global warming. She’d slide off her shorts and skimpies. Open her legs to Drew’s eyes. Such lewd, loving eyes. Yes, she’d let her legs open, but slow, and she’d watch the rise in his pants, a little upward lurch for each inch of apartness, until his big cock was pressing so hard, until her wet cunt was open so wide. Maybe she’d take pity on him and suck him while he steered. Manned the wheel, wasn’t that what they called it? While she tended his tiller. But would someone from the shore with powerful enough binoculars be able to see? Watch her mouth mouthing him fat and full? See the drool of precum slide over her lips and drip down her chin and onto the tips of her tits. Powerful binoculars, that’s something else we need. She put them on the mental list for Drew along with can opener. What else? “What else, Fluffy-boy? Surely we must need something besides binoculars and a can opener. But maybe there is already a can opener.” She debated going to the kitchen to check. The problem was that the windows in the kitchen opened out onto the courtyard, and if someone were looking in ... and she didn’t feel like putting any clothing back on. “Decisions, decisions,” she muttered, remembering that her cell phone was also on the counter in the kitchen. Otherwise she’d call Drew, tell him to get his buns in gear, and to remember to stop to pick up cat food and a can opener on the way. And maybe another bottle of wine—the one chilling in the refrigerator might not be enough. In the meantime, she could read the paperback she’d started, only it was in the living room, also out of bounds, so there was nothing to do, nothing but watch the waves, pet the napping cat, take pictures of the shadows on the wall, and masturbate.

Oh no! Where did that thought come from? Drew, Drew, you’d better get here quick or you’ll miss all the fun. Cassie looked at herself in the mirror, at the fluffy patch of hair dipping into the apex of her vee, and the hint of a notch, the hint of a hint of clit-hood, puffed up with horniness. Oh, Cassie, Cassie, Cassie, you naughty girl. Calm down. Drew will be here soon. Drew and his strong hands and his slippery tongue and his lewd eyes and his handsome cock. Fluffy, should I touch myself? Should I tease myself? Should I take myself to the edge? To over the edge? Splash into the waterfall of... ? Cassie widened her stance. She picked up her camera and aimed at herself in the mirror. She zoomed in, first on one nipple, then the next, then on belly button, her mound, and below. She zoomed all the way, the downy tangle not quite sharp, maybe because I’m not staying steady, she thought. Sea legs, whatever those were. Mermaids all sleek, but sexless below the waist, playing tag with dolphins. “Should I play a little sex tag?” Cassie said, finger pressing the shutter button but not hard enough to take a picture. “Come out, little clitty. Come out, come out wherever you are.” Cassie pressed the camera button. The flash went off. “Oh! Sorry, Fluff.” The cat may have stirred with the flash, but quick as a wink he was back asleep again, or so it seemed. Cassie adjusted the camera to manual so the flash wouldn’t go off, and then just to be safe she set the camera on the floor. She’d heard something. A suspicious sound. Drew’s car? Kids playing catch in the courtyard? The cry of seagulls? Not Drew, evidently. False alarm. Where is that man? She sat herself on the dresser top and lifted her legs up and slid them over so she was sitting lengthwise. She lay back. “Not a lot of room up here,” she whispered to Fluffy. She turned her head so she could see in the mirror. She lay back on her back. She swiveled to her hip, so she was facing the door. She listened hard for the sound of Drew. His footsteps stepping up the stairs. His key clicking into the lock. His shoulder shouldering open the door because he had sixteen packages of goodies in his arms. Unless it was someone else. That real estate lady still had a key, didn’t she? Quickly Cassie sat up.