It was still the bright of evening, but he drew the curtains closed. She watched his shoulders move, arse moulded by jeans, shirt crumple as he twisted and unfold again as he straightened out. He turned to her again, laid half propped on the couch, half lain, now creeping her legs apart and teasing her skirt upwards. Her blouse was low, and the tops of her perfect globes peeked out.
She'd popped in for just 15 minutes, and accepting a glass of water had promptly put it down after two sips. She hadn't stopped kissing him as she unbuttoned his shirt, or run her hands across his chest. She didn't let go of his arse cheeks as she licked, nipped and flicked his tiny nipples. And she hadn't objected in the slightest as he led her from the kitchen into the living room and placed her on the couch. In fact, she had hoped he would as the very strong hints she had texted him all day were not subtle.
She was very horny.
She had been horny all day. She'd woken from a dream where she'd been fingerbanging a faceless brunette. They'd been on towels by a private pool, and she had lifted herself, dripping, to splash stray drops on the femme beauty. It had taken one look, and the pair of them were in the shower together. The brunette was wearing a now see-through white bikini, which had provided extra friction as her hands had enclosed the larger girls breasts and squeezed hard the tight nipples. Then she'd stood her, one leg on the lower shelf, back against the door, and slipped one hand around from the back, making a triple-barrelled fingerfucking salute as she kissed and fucked a desperately tense brown thatched muff. The dream had been broken there, with no satisfaction of her own, and messy pants. As was regularly the case, she was glad she didn't sleep naked. Every break she'd had during the day she fantasised about how the end work would bring her relief, and various forms that could take. She had prepared herself for this brief, essential, booty call.
