The sound of water leaking from the bathroom faucet roused Amelie from a fitful sleep. She shifted to a cooler spot between the summer-warmed sheets, her nightshirt clinging to her uncomfortably. The hand that rubbed her sleepy face came away damp with sweat, and the smell of it on her pillow reminded her of earlier that evening. Her heart swelled at the memory, and a familiar pang sprang up between her legs until her hand came to rest over it. After a moment, she felt her body respond to the lingering touch of her fingertip.
Stilling, Amelie let her eyes peek open and watched her chest rise and fall a little more rapidly. Her mind focused on her arousal and the sensuous sound of her naked legs rasping against the sheets. As the sweat built, she felt her pulse rise against the palm pressed to her bush.
The sound of the dripping faucet brought to mind droplets of a different kind. She imagined the semen of her someday love, and warmth emanated from within her. Before long, wetness began to smear against her restlessly shifting inner thighs. A slow trickle began to form, and she could imagine its trek; she’d seen it before, time and again. Her hand grazed a languorous path through it as her body provided more and more “finger paint.”
Her back now arching, Amelie slowly allowed her legs to spread and toes to curl. She cupped and lightly rubbed a breast with her free hand. Between her legs, sweat was mixing with her wetness. She resisted the urge to bow her legs inward, forcing herself to leave them wide open as the still, hot air pressed her into the mattress like a heavy quilt and meshed with her arousal-quickened breath.
Amelie’s bum began to rise against her covering palm in a rhythm that matched her breathing. Amelie fought against her desire to squirm. For a few moments, she let her hand move slowly between her labia and moaned, biting her lip. Then she lifted her heavy breast to her mouth and relished its warmth and wetness on her stiff nipple. As her left hand continued to press against her bush, she felt the pulse grow beneath it until she finally inserted two fingers and plunged them in and out against the backdrop of the plinking water. Her breathing escalated; the sound of her body against the bedsprings always did something to her.
Drips meshed with slight gasps, moans. Amelie’s bodyweight shifted into the mattress, and three fingers raced in and out as her wet spot gradually lifted into the air. Now on her toes, she searched, wanting the thrust inside her, until she grabbed herself and forced her bum back down. Her body rhythmically arched up and down as she inserted her index finger; before long, she was using both hands.
Amelie took a moment to drag the damp sleepshirt over her head. Her teeth dug into her lip again as she turned on her side, feeling the pleasure throb against her hand more firmly as her legs closed. She loved how her breasts felt as they dangled slightly and the wetness now trickling down and smearing against her legs. Grabbing her pillow, she slid it between her legs, then rolled, forcing the pillow between herself and the mattress. Her hips hunched—slowly, then faster, then slow again as she grasped her breast—until, finally, she pounded, her hands clasping the edge of the mattress in front of her.
The mounded pillow beneath her and the friction of her knees against the mattress encouraged her to moan and press harder. She ground against them, reveling in the sensations. As she thrust, she grabbed her butt and smacked it lightly, then clutched it again. Grasping her breast, she arched up and methodically rocked. Stopping to let her pleasure simmer, she caressed her breast, then repositioned the pillow and slid down the length of it; she loved how it rubbed between her breasts as she began grinding again, this time with speed. she lowered herself into her poor pillow and imagined a husband, begging for more. For now, this pleasure was hers alone.
Amelie tried to picture what her mound and butt must look like as they clasped over and over. She pressed her hands on either side of the pillow and humped harder. Familiar pangs overtook her, and she lost her breath, yet her body still rocked. Slowing, she accented each deliberate thrust with a moan. Once more, she arched up and smacked her bum, then slowly rubbed the spot and down to her mound. She savored the pulsing, the jolts through her body, and her decelerating breaths as the warm air blanketed her skin. She didn’t want to rush to finish—she was no longer ashamed.
Finally, Amelie settled and tenderly cupped her mound. She caught her breath, her nakedness clasped around the pillow as she sat on her feet. With her bush still pulsating, she slipped a finger inside before slowly rolling off onto her back. Running her hand from her chest to her bush, she closed her eyes and proudly listened to her ragged breaths. Amelie felt thankful to God for how He created her; she rejoiced that she was a woman—Eve, with the ability to bring life—and there was yet more to learn about herself and what she liked.
Scissoring her legs on the sheets until the wet spots could be felt on her bum, a smile swept her face as she gave thanks for her body. She snuggled into her wetness and slowly opened her eyes. Looking down her chest, she could see her heartbeat pulse as she rubbed her right hand on her stomach, wet with sweat and her own life-water. She breathed slowly. her mind at peace.
In her, the beauty of her wonder and creativity; in her heart, the burning desire to become one. Amelie swept her hand against her bush, the fire of her essence totally satisfied for now, yet in waiting.
We are sorry that this post was not one of your favorites!
Help us understand why.