Abigail Booth had always found rainstorms to be such a contradiction. This temperate morning she felt no differently while leaning against the stonework sill of one of her studio's windows. Warm morning sunlight was amplified by wavy glass, easily worming through the thin and lazily buttoned white men's shirt she wore. It caressed her dusky skin, leaving a tingle across the surface, before saturating flesh. Outside, and along the pane as well, the world was still moist and dripping. Mankind unerringly had always seen rain as a cleansing force but in the yard bird's nests were destroyed, branches torn and cast to the ground. The town would be awash with mud puddles and soaked clothing. Still she liked the rain even if all the thunder and lightning last night had kept her up shaking furiously in her bed wishing that...
She bit down on her lower lip before trying to drown the want of Eddie holding firm in her psyche. Such thoughts weren't proper after all. They were only distantly related but that wasn't the point. Pushing away from the window her long legs were comfortable in baggy grey sweats. Bedroom attire was just as good to sculpt in as it was to sleep in. After finishing off her tea she looked up to the ceiling and considered checking on Eddie as several of the breakers had to be thrown back over this morning. However she had accepted that her kin and flat mate was a late sleeper. Abby on the other hand adored the caress of the rising sun as much of his accidental brushes of fingers now and again. After a huff she set her tea cup down and gave the bust she did of Uncle Alfred a frumpy look. She's just gotten over her crush on the Wolsey boy! There was no reason to project that need onto another.
She gave the old man's face of marble a light nose flick. "It's his fault for being cute."
In truth she meant both Eddie and Locke Wolsey. After a puff to vent a curl of sexual frustration she washed her gaze over the studio. It had once been the manor's dining room long before glory faded along with color from the stone of its walls. Mother and Father had indulged her, just as they always had, allowing the tables to be moved out, cloth drapes to be hung here and there on the walls and all across the floor. Within the first hour of her casting the room pure and white she'd stained a good portion of the left corner with red clay. Art after all was a messy business.
"What are we going to work on today, Abby?" She asked herself. Over in one corner there were stacked canvases, paints, brushes. Near the middle of the room a few blocks of softer stone and chisels. One table had stored away watercolors atop it and wood burning tools tucked underneath. The exotic Englishwoman had been blessed with talent but cursed with a distinct lack of focus. Part of the reason, Abby suspected, that her parents had given her the old manor all to herself during college while they lived in London was because they didn't want to put up with the chaos that always followed her artistic fits.
Eyes rested on potter's wheel and the five gallon bucket beside it and she nodded to herself. Moving across the room with smooth steps and a swish of slim hips despite the fact no one was there to watch Abby snatched up a ribbon along the way. Cascades of dark hair were tied up haphazardly to be out of the way. Working with clay would give her hands something to do other than aching for a real sensual touch. Drum was popped open and the earthy smell made her grin. Some innocent stimulating action was exactly what was in order. After prepping a basin of water as well she curled her fingers into the clay within the bucket, feeling its slickness oozing between. Abby let her head hang and eyes close, waiting to see what the clay would be. Instead her mind's eye filled with what she'd done to herself in that warm bath last night thinking of first the class model, then of being under Eddie's weight.
Her neck flushed and she cleared her throat stiffly. Why the hell did she have sex on the brain this morning? She'd woken up with soaked sweats and hot want remained curled against her lungs ever since. There was just something in the air but what it was; that the lady of the manor couldn't put her finger on. Right now she was trying to keep her fingers busy instead of them using to relieve her mood. Clearing her throat again she pulled out one hunk of clay and plopped it on wetted wheel and then another. Her hands caressed along the awkward curves of each as they began to spin. After dabbing her fingers in fresh water she worked on kneading the two lumps together like lovers melting into one another in the heat of night.
The clay was cool against her palms, soothing in a way. After strong mixing motions of her she rolled her hands along the side, cupping at the wet earth. Palms applied just enough pressure, just the right way, to build up a hard column. Her shoulders shifted and mouth dried at the sensation of it stiffening for her, taking shape, the warm and sticky fluid running over the back of her knuckles. A hot breath shivered its way out and she closed her eyes. Hands glided up and down in slow strokes encouraging more of the water to flow and for clay to grow tall and straight. Her breath shuddered once and a thumb hooked to quietly give the vase a crown. A low laugh bubbled from her.
"This isn't helping at all." She muttered as her skin grew taunt with daydreamed desire and gaze raked over the rather phallic thing she was working on. Eyes fluttered once more as she purposely started forming something closer to the head of manhood before they lifted to look over at the classic eye and tail ticking black kitty clock on the far wall. Part of her knew that the only other living soul in the house, Eddie, wasn't going to be up for at least another hour. Sucking her lip in a bit deeper Abby breastbone to chin flushed with shamed desire. Yes there was something in the air today. While one hand brushed over the head of that clay cock the other left and shakily worked open the first three buttons of her shirt.
It was just going to be better if she gave in.
Breasts ripened by twenty something years were already begging to be touched. She grazed fingers along breastbone before moving over the inner round of her left breast, tugging blunted nails over skin. It wasn't long before slick fingers forwent any sort of delayed gratification and rolled over the side of pebbled nipple. Like any modern woman Abby knew exactly how to touch herself and take care of these moods. Masturbation after all was completely safe. Fingers slid down the rippling shaft as she worked at firmly rolling that sweet bud. Squeezing she groaned as shots of lust bolted from tit down to tickle across the walls of her sex.
"Ah." Hot breath flowed out of Abby's mouth as her head tilted back and a few strands of hair snaked loose. It was nothing compared to the way liquid want slithered along her thighs. For some reason she'd forwent under things today, the art student's mind was just not in the right place. Firmly her hand pumped at the faux phallus as she continued to work at her chest. Hand flattened spreading red clay all the way across the globe of flesh. Abby kneaded it in the same strong motion as she had the wet earth. Becoming hips made small little rolls. As she whimpered her hand on the wheel squeezed as she would a lover's member but it was a bit too much for the growing sculpture. It buckled in the middle, falling over her hand before curling back into two misshapen lumps now. Abby didn't care. It just freed up her hand to... to do what? Her chest vibrated with a giggle. Oh she'd have to clean her hand off before doing anything downstairs. Did men run into this problem? Still unable to stop quaking from intense desire the sculptor managed to flick off the wheel but just barely.
"You must be, Abby." The voice curled at the back of the Englishwoman with Indian accents lust hazed mind for just a moment, tugging at primal threads before she remembered that she should be startled. Her spine went rigid and hand on chest stilled with embarrassment.
"Who?" Strangled like a trapped rabbit Abby looked over her shoulder and to the rather maturely curved woman lounging on one of the studio's French doors. This sable haired temptress wore only Eddie's New York Jets jersey and a smirk. "What..."
