Dullichan: from Celtic Mythology; a headless black rider, death follows where he stops
That tongue swirling around her swollen clit was nothing short of heaven itself. As it twirled round and round so did her thoughts spin round and round cycling from pleasure to passion to pleasure again in Caitlin's expanding consciousness. She lay there breathing heavy, moaning, letting herself freefall deeper down the rabbit hole of ecstasy abandoning reason if just for a season...
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Caitlin awoke that morning, struggling to rise from her exertion of the night before. 'It must have been one bad dream,' she thought. But would a dream leave her bed a wreck, or her body a wreck for that matter? The warmth which penetrated her body just hours ago had been replaced with an achy feeling this morning. An aching for the heat to return and somehow... Finish the job? No, Caitlin was not going to consider that this morning. There was too much work to do, and so she pushed those thoughts down.
No sense dwelling on it now Caitlin thought as she got up to fetch her coffee downstairs, and then headed back up to get in the shower. She started the water, letting it run to heat the small master bath. She stripped off her sleep-shirt, damp with the evening excesses. She welcomed the stream of warm water raining down on her and her aches. Running her hands over her breasts she noticed a bit of tingling from last night still lingered. They seemed more sensitive and responsive to her touch.
Caitlin noticed their sensitivity again as she was dressing for work. She went through a couple of different bras before finding one that was more comfortable than the others. It was the white bombshell push-up she got last year when she thought she might be adding a few pounds. 'It's supposed to be too big,' she thought, but being pressed for time, she decided not to finish up that thought too. Cait stuffed the thoughts down and finish dressing, choosing a white silk blouse, navy jacket, a matching pencil skirt, and black silk stockings.
She then had a thought and choose her black three inch stilettos, which she found complimented her stockings. She usually just wore pumps to work, or an inch or two of heel. These were social shoes, not business shoes, but she felt that a change would be nice. Then Cait had the thought that the shoes went well not only with the stockings, but with the non-business attire bra as well. She smiled with that thought.
Dressing, Caitlin noticed that the blouse felt a bit tighter. The silk of the blouse against her chest felt somehow 'tingly'. The tight fit of the blouse distracted her from noticing that the usually loose skirt was now visibly complimenting a firmer, more shapely backside.
She was never one to dress in any revealing or provocative manner. The choice of shoes today was just a small step out of character, but not noticeably. As a mid-level corporate attorney in the contracts department of a New York law firm, Caitlin was known for her professional attire, professional demeanor, and professional accomplishments. Because of this she served as a mentor to several of the young female law students interning at the firm. Hearing the mantle clock chime, she headed out to get to the train for her daily commute.
She often enjoyed the scenery on the trek down from her home in Tarrytown down to Grand Central Station while spending time getting a jump on the day with a bit of work on the train. Today, however, her thoughts drifted, trying somehow to make sense of last night's dream. She normally didn't recall any of her dreams besides a fragment of a thought here or there. And she certainly never recalled having a nightmare. Maybe when she was a kid, but she could not recall any as a grown woman. 'Nightmares! Must be a hallmark of the Halloween season,' she thought to herself.
It was not so much the dream that bother Caitlin as it was awareness of her nipples firming up at the recollection of the nightmare's Dullichan. The feeling of those powerful arms, strong hands, and oh! those fingers. No, it was rather her complete surrender to those limbs and the places within her to which they had taken her that Caitlin was actually distressed about.
Heading into her in office she strode past the large curved reception area on the thirteen floor of the building. Bill, a robust Englishman who managed the floor and its staff greeted her as she came in, "Good morning, Ms. Corey".
"Good morning ,Bill. Any news from our project up north?" She asked, checking the stack of recently delivered land surveys.
"Everything appears to be on target," he replied. "The architects will be sending the preliminary drafts by courier on Thursday. They said they would need your revisions by the fifteenth next month to stay on schedule."
