Waking up slowly on a weekend morning was one of Margot's favourite pastimes. Of course, it always helped having someone in the bed beside her with whom to share the moment, but she wasn't going to let that slight inconvenience spoil her fun. As she felt the warm sun spreading across her sheets, she yawned and stretched, lazily, cat-like. She procrastinated opening her eyes, and a contented smile inched its way onto her face.
Outside she could here the birds singing in the trees, cars bustling in the street on their weekend activities. She could smell the spring blossoms' scent breezing through the open window. She thought about coffee, but she could easily postpone that pleasure for a few more blissful lazy moments beneath the covers.
At forty-four, Margot still considered herself young. A failed marriage lay behind her, and her two teenage kids (now away with their father) and a modestly successful career as a PR consultant kept her busy. Of course, there was an absence, now acutely felt as a space next to her in the bed. She managed with a string of dates, mostly charming, gentle men, who made her smile and made her feel attractive, but none who seemed worth sacrificing the orderly life she had constructed since declaring the marriage final.
Her eyes still closed, she ran a hand down her neck, onto her collarbone, and softly brushed her breast underneath the man's T-shirt she wore to bed. Her nipple responded to the familiar touch, stiffening under the cotton. She felt a warm tingle running inside her, as if electric, awakening her deep inside.
She smiled to herself, bringing her other hand down between her legs. At first she gently brushed the tangled curls, pushing her thighs forward, imagining being teased by a stranger's touch. She let her legs part slightly, enjoying the moist heat emanating from her sex, as if the soft lips were breathing in concert with the sighs released from her mouth. With a fingertip she traced the silky groove towards her clitoris, beginning to swell and pulse in anticipation.
Rolling onto her side, and raising one leg, Margot brought her other hand down, reaching around her leg, and gently pushing a finger all the way into her vagina. "Aah!" she gasped, enjoying feeling herself growing more wet. With the thumb and forefinger of the other hand she very delicately squeezed her clitoris, softly rolling the sensitive flesh. As she pushed another, and then another, finger inside herself, she began sliding the skin around her clitoris back and forth, squeezing the shaft, gently masturbating the exquisite organ like a minuscule penis. The three fingers deep in her matched the strokes, penetrating deep.
Margot envisioned two men making love to her, one paying attention only to her clitoris, stroking it with slender pianist's fingers, and kissing it, making love to it intimately. The other man of her fantasy was making love to her from behind, recklessly, filling her with deep thrusts of his penis, roughly mauling her breasts with his hands. The man toying with her clitoris, in between soft kisses and gentle licks, waxes lyrical about the organ of his affection:
