I kept cleaning. Scrubbing, actually. Seems like my life is comprised entirely of this floor and this scrub brush. and waiting, lots and lots of waiting.
I guess one can't expect more from a life taken. Being one of the twenty that were stolen from their beds and brought to this place. I'm not fully sure what it is, but for now, its home. Its a heck of lot better than the homes I've had in the past, food and company nothing short of gourmet. But all of us are thinking the same thing, "Why are we here? What do they want?"
But of course, I'm getting ahead of myself, so back to the floor that needs scrubbing.
Some times one of them comes in to watch me. I call him Mikey. Well, in my head, I do. Aside from longing glances and a wink once, I haven't actually spoken to the delectable character that even now is stripping my clothes bare with his eyes.
I still haven't figured out if I'm allowed to speak to him, or even acknowledge his presence. The hushed thought of punishment keeps me from making any overt advances, but the very thought of those piercing eyes stir something deep inside of me.
I risk a quick glance back. He left? I don't see him standing where he was. Disappointed and confused, I go back to my cleaning. I swear I still sense him; I guess his scent lingered into the room. I kind of wish it didn't because it makes me yearn for things that I may never have the chance to experience. Not with him, not here.
The thought of the unattainable makes me moan. Confident in my solitude, I look at the brush in my hand. Its wooden handle tempts, shiny from the sweat of scrubbing and from so much use. It's rounded at the head and softly flares in and out until it reaches the base, about a foot long. A sudden flush rushes over me as I scrub slower, thinking of the possibilities that lay before me. And the inner battle starts. I want so badly and Mikey's presence escalated the desire. At the same time I know that the heavy door behind me is closed but not locked. But try as I might, I can't lower my wanting. I can't put aside the intense burn.
Decision made, I get on my knees facing the wall and slide the handle down the front of my body. The big tee and undies that we are given to wear don't present much of hindrance to the stroke of the wood. Moving with an intensity I did not know I possess, I go straight to the throbbing between my legs. Nothing but the heavy full feeling will satisfy me.
Moving my panties aside, I reach down n hold the brush, handle up while I kneel above it. Inching downward, the head slips between my full glistening lips, searching and then finding the clenching opening. That first touch of wood send a shiver through my body, my nipples tighten from in anticipation. Lowering myself further to accept more of the unyielding push, I stop on the first flare.
