I was sitting on the couch in the family room, bored and lonely. That damn clock, that incessantly ticking five-dollar clock, was driving me crazy again. She was late again. Andrea, dear friend and–at least from my end–love, was half an hour late again.
Desperately I needed to see her again, and yet she was nowhere to be found. I thought of her beautiful face, those elegant green eyes, that silky brown hair. I thought of all the parts of her I'd never had the chance to see. I pictured her in that cute orange bikini she'd worn last summer in Miami, thinking of the way her nipples poked seductively into the tight fabric, the way I could just barely make out what I really wanted to see down below, just a little bit of that perfect camel toe. Finally, I couldn't bear it anymore.
My right hand shot to my lap, unzipping my cargo shorts and placing my hand on the front of my panties. Already I could feel my juices soaking into them. I brushed my palm across my pussy. Laying down, I knew there would be no further turning back.
As my nipples hardened, my other hand reached up my shirt to greet them, one by one. Fondling my breasts with my fingers, feeling their perfect balance between firm and sensitive, I remembered why I loved even their smallness. And of course I was reminded of Andrea's larger breasts, D cups as she'd told me with a giggle. How I wanted to touch them in that moment... but I'd held back. Why had I held back?
My right hand by now felt real wetness, fluid far sexier than simple sweat. I could feel the lips of my pussy engorging, my clit growing eagerly, my whole body begging me for more. I slid my panties aside with my thumb, and it was Andrea's thumb, as she was playfully exploring my body, grinning with such joy at the sight of my wet pussy.
With the same vigor I would someday use to fuck her I tore off the shorts and panties, throwing them across the room, leaving me bare from the waist down, soaking in my crotch, and hot all over. I let my left hand glide down my stomach as my right beat it to its destination, greedily claiming my sizeable clit for itself. The left acquiesced and took up post at the next best place, stroking back and forth across the lips of my pussy.
And I took to rubbing my clit with two fingers; they were Andrea's fingers, pressing just hard enough to move my hood up and down, covering and uncovering my clit. I rubbed it with my palm; it was Andrea's palm, pleasuring me just the way she knew. Not to be outdone, my other hand–Andrea's other hand–began massaging the lips of my pussy, increasing the warmth and wetness even further, gently drawing them open with affection and coaxing until finally it had revealed the full glory of my tight and eager cunt. There my left hand draws a teasing circle around, promising to go inside when the time is right. My cunt and I moan with anticipation.
My right hand pulls away, slides up my body; my clit cries out in loneliness. My left hand arrives to satisfy her as I assault the fingers of my right with my tongue. What is not already covered in my silky juices is dutifully coated in sticky saliva, and then my right hand plunges back to its post, where my left barely has time to move out of the way.
This is her tongue, gentle but firm, sweetly caressing me. I begin to moan, softly at first, then growing louder. "Oh, Andrea! Take it inside me! Now, Andrea!"
And two of my fingers, my surrogate, joyfully oblige, plunging in to join the warmth and wetness fully. How I wished I could take them deeper. I pressed them against the wall of my cunt, the other hand rubbing and pleasuring my clit. In two-part harmony they brought me closer to my goal.
Slowly I built up a rhythm, alternating strokes of my clit-hand and pumps of my cunt-hand, building in loud, heavy breathing and hard, tight muscle contractions. Soon another level of pleasure was mine. No longer satisfied with two, I forced in a third finger, feeling my tight walls stretch to meet the challenge.
Soon, my body started to spasm, rippling and thrusting at the place where Andrea should have been. The creaks of the old couch are drowned out by my moans. Before long I am in a full and forceful orgasm, feeling waves of tingling warmth and joy flow through me in a symphony. "Oh, Andrea! Oh God!" I cry, as my pussy vibrates with pleasure.
Unwilling to let it end, I stroke faster, press harder, moan louder. The bliss intensifies, taking me higher, higher, testing the limits of my body and the couch. Then suddenly and finally it hit a momentous peak, a glorious perfection, and warm, sticky cum gushed out of me, pulsing again and again, covering my hands and the cushions. Gradually the orgasm began to fade into sweet and gentle pleasure, and I lay there, cradling my femininity in joyful hands.
As my breathing relaxes, I gently remove my hand, drawing it up my body, leaving a trail of wet loveliness in its path, leaving its mark on my t-shirt. In my mouth it goes, where slowly I savor the sweetness of my femininity, wondering if Andrea could somehow taste and smell even better.
Suddenly I hear a click which draws me out of the bliss. I forgot I'd given Andrea a key! What would she think if she saw me like this?
As the clicks are followed by a creak, I force myself to stand, and begin searching frantically for my panties. At the last possible moment I grab them, turn, and do my best to cover myself, just as she walks in.
But she isn't upset. Instead she smiles. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jessie."
