She finally made it home from work. Late. Of course. No glorious week ending Friday could go unpunished by arrogant and demanding bosses, the ever-present road construction in the city and traffic. God, the traffic. That bumper-to-bumper, ever so slowly edging forward, hoping like hell to remain unscathed, as yet another motoring idiot cut her off, version of traffic that drove her to the brink of sanity on a good day. This was not one of them. She needed to leave the heat and the crowded city behind, escape to the sanctity of her bedroom, unwind, and relax. Glumly, she noted that she was the first home tonight too, of all nights, when all she really wanted was to snuggle deep into a man's chest and hold on tight. She randomly ignored the mail, stepped over the evening paper, and further neglected the already wilting yellow flowers on the front porch.
Fitting her key into the lock, she gave it a twist, a nudge and felt the cool air rush out as the door opened and she put one foot towards freedom. Heels kicked off at the foot of the stairs, she padded her way up the steps, all seventeen of them, leading to her sanctuary. The carpet soft and comforting under her toes, she closed her eyes and fingered the smoothness of the oak handrail as she ascended to the top. Tension slowly began to creep from her shoulders.
The double doors at the top of the landing remained closed, as she had left them early in the day. As she reached out a long slender arm towards them, a fluffy grey Persian twined itself about her feet and meowed a greeting. Together they stepped into the darkened bedroom and silently slid the bedroom doors closed behind them. Cat accepted a chin scratch and pat on the head with much disdain before perching on a windowsill, its swishing tail visible below the scalloped edge of a burgundy brocade curtain.
The other female occupant of the room sat for a moment on the edge of the neatly made bed, just long enough to remove her shoes and begin unwinding long red hair from the day's upswept hairstyle. When she arose, she moved like a panther stalking its prey, gracefully moving from dresser to arm chair to closet, making her way to the open bathroom, dropping items of clothing and jewelry purposely as she went. Steam began to fill the space as she opened the shower door, stepped inside, and sighed as the first blast of hot water hit her alabaster skin.
With eyes closed and head bent, she languished under the stinging spray until her naturally pale skin was flushed a dusty dark pink and the tips of her fingers began to wrinkle. She always considered a shower far more than just the labor of becoming clean. It was her time to think, dream, explore her body, and her fantasies. Today was no different. She leaned against the tiled wall of the shower, eyes still closed, hands concentrating on rubbing the bubbles of her favorite brown sugar and vanilla body scrub across her generous breasts and down her arms. The combination of rough sugar and heat had her puffy nipples peaking out pertly from the dark areola surrounding them and straining under her fingertips. The more attention they demanded, the more she paid them, circling with the pads of her fingers and stopping every so often to pinch them and listen to the sound of her own husky sighs.
She rolled her neck in soothing circles as she cleansed and conditioned, rinsed and wrung out her long hair. A moment later, bent in half to shave her legs, she arched her back like Cat might do and stretched out the long lean musculature of her back and arms. It was almost ritualistic, this process of reclaiming her soul from the working persona she was forced to adopt.
A large and thoroughly masculine hand reopened those double doors a few minutes later and allowed the cat her much desired escape. He heard the shower running as he slipped inside. He chuckled to himself. Knowing Honey as he did, this might take a while. There was no such thing as a quick shower in her world. She loved her time to play. Deftly he dispensed with his suit jacket and tie. As he unbuttoned his white dress shirt and began to slip out of it, a broad smile crossed his dark features. Laugh lines began to appear around his eyes and down his handsome face as memories of having her in naked in the shower, bent over with him behind her, sliding deep inside over and over until they both were soaked and satisfied came into full view in his head. Shoes and socks gone, he was down to his jeans and boxers as he suppressed another chuckle and remembered the time he balanced on the edge of the garden tub rubbing her back and running his fingers through her radiant red curls and she rewarded him with the hottest, wettest birthday blow job ever. He shuddered and groaned, tried to push her away only to have her clutch him tighter as he felt himself coming in long hot spurts down the back of her throat. It seemed to go on forever. She milked her lover of every drop he had to offer happily, greedily and swallowed looking much like the cat who lunched on the proverbial canary. Oh the memories. How sweet they were indeed. History and anticipation were the deep glow in his dark eyes as he settled into the chocolate colored wing chair opposite their bed and just waited.
As the water began to run from hot to cool she slid one hand down between her slightly parted legs. Brushing past the artfully trimmed red landing strip, her fingers found themselves teasing, caressing the insides of her thighs, feeling the heat, sliding upward to part the lips of her pussy slightly and dip one finger inside. She gasped as that finger tip found her sensitive bud and began to slowly rub it in circles. Arching her back into the sensations, she leaned against the smoothly tiled shower wall, and spread her legs further apart, both hands quickly finding their way between her smooth thighs, holding her pussy open so that the water from the shower head danced deliciously across her wet clit. Her head shook from side to side as she enjoyed the pressure, the budding and building torture and the cool water that continued to relentlessly pound her already sodden cleft.
Honey knew she wasn't ready to come just yet. She needed the buildup and the let down to settle her frazzled nerves. There was something about existing on the verge between the ultimate pleasure and cruelest frustration that held a strange appeal to her. As her body calmed back down, she shut off the faucet and reached for a towel. She briskly rubbed her pale skin, feeling the contours of her body, the smoothness of freshly shaved legs and the gentle swells of her breasts. Anticipation stoked the embers of the dying fire within her as she dried between her legs and allowed the towel to linger a moment as it brushed over her already swollen and engorged pussy. That's it, she thought, imagining the faint roughness was the pads of her lover's work worn fingers as he roughly parted her in advance of his tongue, or perhaps his rock hard cock. Her eyes closed involuntarily, the memories of his touch, his scent wafted over her consciousness.
She stalked, rather than walked, out of the bathroom and made her way towards the bed. The room was still nearly pitch dark. Honey bent to light a candle on the nightstand rather than flip a switch. As she admired the flame, a hand snaked into the nightstand drawer and brought forth a small jar of lube and her favorite dark pink vibrator. She was so focused on the task at hand she didn't notice her lover sitting in the chair opposite the bed. Or did she? Abandoning the toy and the lube for a moment, Honey reached for a small crystal bottle sitting atop the headboard and began to sprits her damp skin with the liquid inside. Eyes closed, deep breath in, she inhaled the intoxicating scent she was named for: raw honey, clover, vanilla and spice.
