She's so beautiful! I look down at her and trace the shapes of her body with my fingertips, the planes of her face, the softness of her red lips in their usual smile, the hills of her breasts, the hard peaks of her erect nipples, the valley of her stomach, the smoothness and softness of her inner thighs.
Her breathing increases, the tops of her breasts blush, her legs part, my fingers find the smooth, shaved skin of her mound, the deepness and wetness of the slit between her lips, which swell as I stroke them.
She is panting now, but my wet fingers dance away, teasing, tantalizing, plucking a nipple, tracing the contours of her breasts, the shape of her lips. She sucks my fingers, draws them into her mouth, caresses them with her tongue, licks the last vestiges of her juices from them until I withdraw them, kiss my love, let my fingers trail back between her legs, deep into her waiting slit, grazing the delicate winglets and folds of her inner lips, seeking, searching for the depths of her cunt. There, I find it, and insert a finger into its hot, wet depths, then another, making my darling moan and squirm with passion. As my fingers stroke the softness and wetness inside her sheath, I find her G-spot and her back arcs as her climax rolls over her. I kiss my love, she kisses me back as she moans with passion, she hold me tight, but I want more, I want to make love to my darling as she has made love to me.
But this is getting ahead of myself. To understand the immensity of what has happened, we need to go back to the beginning.
My name is Audrey Woods, I'm twenty-five years old and recently divorced from my husband of four years because of the inevitable 'irreconcilable differences'. In this case Richard had been a control freak and wanted to have a hand in everything I did, something I just couldn't take any more. Fortunately we had no children so the break-up was relatively straightforward. I have money of my own, there was no alimony involved, so here I am.
I have shoulder length yellow-gold hair, framing a blue eyed, longish face considered by some to be pretty. I'm five feet eight inches tall, one hundred and twenty pounds and have firm, well-shaped, full breasts. My legs are long and slim but well-muscled.
I've returned to Digby, Nova Scotia, where I was born and brought up, leaving when I was seventeen to attend Carleton University in Ottawa. It was there that I met Richard and where I lived and worked until my return to live in the place of my birth just this week. Unfortunately, apart from some relatives over on the east coast of the province in Halifax, Chester and Lunenburg, I was starting off on my own. Scary, but at the same time exciting.
It was a Saturday morning when I climbed out of my BMW convertible in the driveway of my new house, filled with a combination of excitement and fear. For the first time in four years I was doing something on my own, and while that was very scary it also filled me with a happiness I hadn't known in a very long time. If I'd known what was to come I'd have realized that it was nothing compared to the joy and happiness that were to come. But how could I have known?
I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out my very own front door key, warm from my body heat. It slid into the lock with a clicking of tumblers that seemed to say "Welcome home, Audrey!" and I entered the house in which I was brought up, for the first time since I inherited it after my parents were killed in a car accident a long year ago. 'Were killed', because they died when their car was hit by a drunk driver who crossed the centre line and eliminated their lives.
My shoes clattered on the bare wooden floor and echoed through the hallway. I had had the house cleared of my parents' old and dated furniture after they died and my furniture would not be arriving until Monday, but I couldn't resist coming over to see it. The only articles of furniture were a new fridge, stove, dishwasher, built-in microwave and washer and dryer that an old friend had been kind enough to arrange for and have installed in my absence. I really liked my new kitchen. It was larger than I remembered it and the new stainless steel appliances looked really attractive, as I knew they would. Damn I liked this house, always had!
But first things first. As my fridge was up and running I decided that I might as well fill it. There was a good size Atlantic Superstore just up the road so I got back in my car, left my little house on Queen Street, and within five minutes pulled into the supermarket parking lot, grabbed a cart and started my shopping. It was a nice store, well lit, nice wide aisles but even so, I managed to collide with another shopper making a turn at the end of an aisle. Profuse apologies followed and, as frequently happens in friendly Nova Scotia, where people greet you on the street, even if they don't know you, we started chatting, swapping stories. She was young, beautiful, and I was absolutely captivated by her glorious smile.
Lucie was from Yarmouth, one hundred kilometers down the road, was twenty-two years old and a teller in a local bank, a job that she hated but was a necessary stepping stone for better things, or so she hoped. She had a room in a rooming house, with kitchen privileges, which is why she was here shopping today.
She was a striking girl of about my height and weight, with a beautiful oval face, straight, narrow nose, wide, red lips over shining white teeth all framed by curly, black hair hanging below her shoulders, with firm, pointed breasts, a slim waist and gorgeous legs. But above all, oh above all, she had that smile, the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen, that lit up her whole face and that told me that she was smiling just for me.
We hit it off immediately and agreed that I would help her home with her groceries, she would help me home with mine and I would then take her out for lunch.
Her rooming house was nothing much, but it was clean and comfortable and saved her from having to commute two hundred kilometers from and to Yarmouth every day. Horrible thought, though some people did it! She usually went home on weekends, but as today was the first opportunity she'd had to shop that week, she'd stayed in Digby.
She loved my house and when we'd unloaded the groceries I took her on a tour, not that there was much to show - living room, big kitchen, bathroom and two bedrooms, the master with an en-suite bathroom. It's hard to really appreciate a house that has no furniture, but she loved it.
We lunched at a little restaurant on Water Street. This was Nova Scotia, after all, so I had to have fish and definitely some world-famous Digby scallops. It was nice to be home! As we ate, we talked, of course, and learned more about each other. Lucie had been working in Digby for about a year and, as I've already mentioned, didn't like it at all. I sympathized with her as I've had jobs I hated too. There were, and are, more than enough of them to go around! She found Digby boring, still hadn't made any real friends, especially in the rooming house, where most of the roomers were much older than she was.
"Lucie, you're such a beautiful girl, you must have a boyfriend. Are they easy to come by around here?" I asked with a grin.
She blushed. "I don't have a boyfriend, Audrey, so I wouldn't know, and I don't have a boyfriend because I don't like boys." she said quietly.
I thought for a minute and asked "Bad experiences, or are you gay?"
Still blushing, she replied "Gay, Audrey, always have been, I guess. Does it bother you? It does a lot of people."
"No, Lucie, it doesn't bother me. I had quite a few friends in Ottawa who were gay and we got on just fine."
"I'm so glad, Audrey." she replied and reached out to take my hands. "Now tell me all about you. I seem to have done all the talking so far."
