Anji closes her browser window and locks the computer with a deep breath, the machinery in her head, epecially the primitive systems, throwing small charges. The size and shape of her body are defined in her awareness now by the stimulating hormones being produced in those systems, a delicious cocktail thats pumping down into her breasts and causing her nipples to harden, and slipping across the inside of the skin of her belly to her pussy, making it warm and quietly ache for attention.
The house is silent save the buzzing of summer insects riding the slow breeze through a screen door. She thinks about his message, bites her lip, and moves with the neutrality of nobody watching to the bedroom, where she pulls a pink dildo from the small wooden box hidden beneath a pile of panties. She lies down in the velvety folds of the bedcovers, trying not to let the artificiality of pink plastic stimulation bother.
She unfastens her jeans and slides them down tanned, muscled thighs to her knees, which she spreads, and she pulls her shirt up to give the humid air access to her breasts. Feels more real this way, whether or not anybody was taking notes. The dildo is hard and cool to the touch, but feels good when she rubs the "head" slowly against her clit, and then follows the line of her pussy lips to where it recedes inside of her. She's closed her eyes.
In her mind she replays a visit:
She'd walked far enough through the streets and neighborhoods of Niville that by the time she finally stopped her thigh muscles continued jerking hastily, but it was her stomach's nervous pangs that Anji couldn't ignore. Across the street stood the house she held in memory; disconcertingly solid, well-kept, and possibly occupied. She knocked...no answer. Wrestling mixed feelings of relief and frustration, she sat on the steps and waited, staring at her tired sneakers. He got back late. The heavy clouds drowned the stars but the precipitous drop in temperature had raised the hair on her arms and crystallized her rapid breaths. William looked confused for a moment when he saw her in the dim street-lamp light but recovered quickly and invited her in. His house was warm and comfortable. He offered a drink as he poured one for himself, and Anji accepted and nursed the whiskey as she talked.
The explanation told itself simply and well. She'd broken up with a unhappy man who was now staking out her house to such a degree that she felt uncomfortable sleeping there. Usually she could brush off the paranoia long enough to grab a few hours rest, but he'd left a disturbing message on her cell this afternoon. She'd just recently moved from Florida and hadn't made many friends yet, and her car was on its last legs from the couple thousand mile drive. Would he mind if she stayed at his place for a few days?
William was an easy-going sort of man with charmingly boyish features and intelligent blue eyes. He said she could stay as long as she needed to while his wife was out of town on vacation. When she came back though, Anji would have to find another way to deal with her ex...like maybe the police. Anji thanked him and promised to help out with meals and housework while she was there. They both sat in the living room catching up and had several more glasses of whiskey as the moon inched silently overhead. When it became clear that Anji was struggling to hold her head up, William suggested it was time for bed.
He followed her up the stairs and showed her the layout of the second floor. There was a loft with a futon & bookshelves, a couple of kids rooms, what seemed to be a guest bedroom, again books; all about childrearing, a bathroom, and the master bedroom, which looked too inviting. Anji was drunk and beyond making concessions for modesty by this point; she just slipped out of her jeans and crawled under the covers in a t-shirt and underwear. Watching her curl into the blankets, William smiled a little to himself as he took off his shirt.
She woke early, maybe five am; her stomach had knotted - punishment for skipping dinner and then drinking. It took a moment to come to her senses, and when she did she just wanted to sink back into the warmth behind her and tell her stomach to shut the fuck up. But she was lying on her side. And the warmth at her back was breathing softly into the back of her neck. She'd somehow somnambulantly spooned her host. And she felt his morning erection pressing into the crack of her ass. It'd been awhile since she'd experienced someone new this way, so Anji's body responded by preparing for sex. Her panties grew damp, her heart rate increased, and she had to resist a strong urge to push back against him, or wiggle her ass. Somebody's husband, she reminded herself. Somebody cold, who didn't seem to want him, but somebody's husband nonetheless. Still, she couldn't deny her attraction to him, which was one of the reasons she came to this house in the first place.
She could satisfy one of her hungers, though, and then hopefully climb back into bed in a less compromising position, maybe catch a little more shuteye before a possibly awkward morning. Slipping slowly from the bed, she padded through the shadowy house, downstairs, to the kitchen. She grabbed an apple from a tray in the fridge and took it to the sink, where she was washing it under the tap when a tan, well shaped arm came down beside hers.
