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It’s been 6 months since the last time I got laid. Even then it wasn’t anything to write home about. Needless to say frustration doesn’t begin to describe my mood. And work, work today was a joke. If it could go wrong it did. So here I am at seven thirty - a full two and half hours after I should of clocked out, climbing from my vehicle and trudging up my walk.

You. You are upstairs banging away on lord only knows with your hammer and nails. Sometimes I think you do it to annoy me. Others...I wonder if you know about my fantasy. There is just something about a man in an open button down plaid camp shirt, holey jeans, and work boots that turns me on. Add to that a light dusting of blondish brown hair and a fine sheen of sweat...I’m putty in your hands. Simply thinking about it has me heating up, my tits swelling in anticipation. Braless - damn things confine - my nipples show through my tee shirt. Lifting my arms I slip my shoulder length auburn locks into a ponytail - your preferred hairstyle. You have a thing about sporty innocence. I know this because through the holes in your floor (my ceiling) I can hear you talk. I hear other things too. Like last night when you beat yourself off. All I can say is amazing. I didn’t think you’d ever come. But you did. My, oh my, did you. Do you even have any cum left in your body?

My nipples harden further, begin aching tenderly. My panties dampen slightly. Cripes, I’m standing outside my apartment building, my breasts thrust out like an offering, thinking about you masturbating and getting hot. I really do need to get laid. Lowering my right hand I slide it, palm flat, down my face and neck across my chest and over my left breast. I have to touch myself. I gasp. My panties dampen further. I’m sensitive. So damn sensitive. I close my eyes, imagine it’s your hand, your calloused hand, grazing my nipple. The texture, rough against smooth, sand paper to satin. It’s...erotic. My sex clenches, moistens more. I’m wet now. I want you. I want you bad. Only...I don’t know your name or if you’ve even noticed me. And after my divorce I don’t have the confidence I once did. Nor is my body as firm as it once was. I’m not fat, I’m curvy. With Double D almost E breasts, all natural of course, I can’t be anything else.

Sighing I drop my hands - head inside. Aching as I am I am going to have to take things into my own hands. Mine and Mr. Pink’s that is. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry over the fact that at twenty eight I get more action from my vibrator then I do from men. Have I gown picky? Jaded? Scared worthless? Something to debate later. Right now me and Mr. Pink...on second thought I haven’t used my shower head in awhile. Kicking the door shut behind me I toss my keys on the hall table, my pack on the floor and kick off my shoes. Grabbing for the hem of my tee I head for my bathroom. I never notice the extra holes my ceiling acquired in my absence - not in the hall and living rooms anyway. Ripping it over my head I gasp. Rough and jerky as I was about removing the garment I brushed against my breasts. My nipples - dark with arousal beg for attention. I oblige. Careful not to touch the center I circle my breasts. My hands become your hands, you tease me. Gently, applying pressure in degrees I work my hands around coming closer but refusing to touch my pleading nipples. Opening my eyes I look in the mirror. I want to see what you see. My orbs swollen with anticipation hang heavy, beg for your touch, your mouth. The wet warmth of your mouth will sear my skin but it will be nothing compared to my heat and what it will do to yours and yes you are going there. You will go down and I will reciprocate. Unlike most women I like going down on a guy. The feeling of control, of holding his most vulnerable part be it large or small, thick or thin, of knowing his pleasure depends solely on me makes me hotter than Hades in August. Right now however you are going to concentrate on me. Pleasure me right and you will be rewarded. Lowering my gaze I look southward. My jeans, my favorite, faded, perfectly fit, button front jeans are in desperate need of a wash. I’m soaked clear through. And hot. So very, very hot. Lowering my hands I skim them over my belly, my hips, towards my buttons. Popping two I pull back. Anticipation is half the fun after all. Teasing I touch my belly, the band of my jeans.

Movement above catches the corner of my eye. Looking up I notice a new hole. Seems you’ve finally gotten around the guest bedroom of your apartment. Having gone in there for a screwdriver you saw me touch myself. I definitely have your attention now. Pretending I don’t see you hovering where you think I can’t see you I reach out, pull back the shower curtain. Angling just right but not as though I’m doing so on purpose I slip the hot and cold spigots on and adjust the temperature. From your vantage point you can see the side of my right breast. Steam beginning to billow - I like my showers on hot side - I straighten back out. You can see both breasts now, the tops of them, the points of my nipples. You suck in a breath but I can’t hear it. I imagine it though. The barely audible hiss of air and arousal. Your cock semi hard all day jumps to attention. Seems you think about me after all. Shifting you try to ease your discomfort without moving suddenly and drawing my attention. Secretly I smile. Having peeped through the hole in my room the night before I know how thick and large you are. Moving slightly left or right is not going to help you. In fact the friction will make it worse or better depending on your point of view. Better in mine. If I have to be crazy so do you.

Moving my hands to my buttons again I pop the remaining three. Hooking my thumbs into the band at my waist I push them over my hips, down my legs and step though. With them went my panties. White cotton bikinis they were nothing fancy, nothing important. Soaked clear through they didn’t provide much coverage anyway. Not that I want coverage. I want you to look. I want you to see. Kicking my clothes aside I step into the shower. Leaving the curtain open - I’ll clean up the water later...or better yet tell you I’ve sprung a leak I need you to fix. The possibilities in that thought heats me further. Stepping under the shower I let the water sluice over me, through my hair - loose now (somewhere along the line I lost my scrunchi), over my breasts, down my belly, and over my thighs. I want to take the head off the wall change the setting to pulsate and slip it between my legs. I want to feel the spray on my nether lips, my clit. Inside I clench in anticipation. Soon. Very, very soon. Right now I want you to watch. To wonder. And you do. Thinking I can’t hear you you grab a folding chair from the corner. With your apartment under construction your real furniture is in storage. Careful not to bang it you open the chair, set it on the floor and position it so that you have optimum viewing. Parking your delectable bottom - the things your jeans do to you butt should be outlawed, you sit.

Once, just once I want to run my hand over your perfect ass, over your hips along your shaft. Closing my eyes I picture your manhood. Thick. Long. Bulbous. Dark Red. And hard. So very, very hard. I want to suck you so bad I can taste it. Inside I clench again. Unwittingly I lower my hand, slip it between my legs, part my folds. I’m dripping. And I’m not referring to the water pouring from the shower head. Ah...Leaning back slightly I play. Touching, teasing, tormenting. It feels good. Real good. Really, really good. Only thing better would be you. Your mouth. Your fingers. Your dick. To be filled by you... Inside. One finger then two slip inside. Stroking, rubbing, pinching I work my clit. Pleasure begins to build. And build. God that feels good. Too good. Backing off a bit. A feat in itself. Aggravating but rewarding. When I come and I will come I want force. I want hard. I want wet. I want you with me. And you will be. Even more uncomfortable now you unbutton and unzip the fly of your own jeans. Containing the monster between your legs is no longer and option. Harder than ever you spring free ripping your boxers in the process. Your favorite pair at that. Not caring you wrap your right hand around your shaft, stroke up then down, up then down. Judging my speed you try copying me. You fail miserably. In my own world now I stroke harder, faster. Lights begin dancing behind my eyes. I’m going to come. I stop. Forcibly. I’m not ready and neither are you. I want you to see. You will see. Breathing deeply, for some reason my lungs are starved for air, I reach for the shower head. Pulling it free from it’s hook I change the setting. Rapid shots of water pulse. That is going to feel so good between my legs, concentrated right on my clit. Turning, I make sure the tub floor is clear of obstructions and that the soap and shampoo are out of my way. Satisfied I won’t knock anything over at an inopportune time I sit down, lay back. Scooting down I make sure I leave room to move. When I tighten I’m going to squirm and I don’t want to bang my head. In position I spread my legs. Everything I own is on display. Your cock jumps, pulses, weeps with joy. It wants me. You want me. Strangled you struggle to breathe, glance at the door, debate how long it will take you to strip, make it down the stairs, bust down my door and climb into my shower. Ten seconds tops. Too long. Not caring if I hear any more you scoot your chair closer to the hole. You need a better look, a closer look. Waxed bare you see everything. My swollen pink lips. My tight desperate clit. My virgin asshole. My fingers circling my vulva. Spreading your leaking seed you start stroking again. Your come is my come. I’m lubricating you. I’m sliding my hot slick cunt over your straining shaft. I’m gripping you tight. Up. Down. Up. Down. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. I ride you. All eight inches of you. I bury you deep. Rise high. Slurping squishing sounds fill the room. Stunned stupid you watch. You watch my eyes close, pleasure begin to tighten my features. Kiss me. You need to kiss me. You need to put your mouth on me. Leaning forward you do. But not on my mouth. On my breasts. First one then the other. You suck, tweak, and bite my nipples. Sensation shoots southward. I cry out. More. I want more. Harder. I ride harder. You keep pace working my breasts like I work your dick. I slip my hand under my leg, cup your balls, squeeze and roll. You bite me. I like it. You like it. I do it again. You do it again. I cry out. Startled from your fantasy you look down. I’m spread eagle or as close to it as I can get in the tub, the shower head positioned in the lower holder - yes there is a reason for that thing - is pointed at my pussy. My sopping wet pussy. It’s pulsing, hitting me just right. I cry again. Again. I whither. My back arches. My legs draw back. My hands tighten around my knees. To close. To close my legs. I must close my legs. The sensation - hard hot water hitting just the right spot. No. Can’t. Your watching. You have to see. My grip tightens further, my fingers bite into my skin. Come morning I will have bruises. I don’t care. Coming for you will be worth it. You stroke harder, faster, watch my every move, every expression. My face contorts, my knuckles whiten, I stop breathing. I come. Glorious beautiful creamy cum shoots from my body, arches into the air, sprays the wall. Once, twice, three times. I gasp. Pant. Come again. Wide eyed you stare. But only momentarily. Tightening in your groin and balls remind you you’re not finished. Faster. Harder. You pump faster, harder, grip the side of the chair with you left hand to keep from falling. More pre come. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster. You explode. Stream after stream erupts, covers your lap, the floor, the wall across the room. Still you keep coming. You gasp. Struggle to breathe. Damn near pass out. Still you keep coming. Finally you stop, sag in your chair. Beneath you I smile. Seems you had some left after all.

And now...now I’m not so frustrated. I am, however, hungry. Wonder what’s in the kitchen for dinner. Wonder if I can get you to join me.

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