If this had happened in a dream then it's possible your narrator may never have woken up at all.
If she had awoken, it would likely have been with an almighty gasp, her thin lips parted in one single oval breath of ecstasy as for not the first time she felt the true power of the gentle touch of her fingers over her moist clitoris, the shower spraying over her tender nipples and running down off her slim body into where her hands gently massaged those erogenous zones the power of which she had only fairly recently begun to discover.
Her long black hair fell forward in several tangled knots and dripped over her shivering body amid her deep gasps - haaauuuammmhh-mmmummmnnnaahh - as she grabbed her left breast tight and moved her fingers delicately in synch with the building contractions of her vagina. Her thighs quivered; her back arched, her shivering body squirmed as she lightly rubbed the tip of her clitoris.
There was no escaping the reality of it this time - she was thinking as she had never dared allow herself to think before.
Usually this process was routine and took only several minutes. She had preventative measures in place within the various transportation faculties of her fantasies: guilt erected a certain high-rise mosaic - a skyscraper-screen of cognitive toll-roads and no-fly zones.
This made living with reality of her necessity less burdeonsome, even if her clitoris ached agonizingly for a more explorative imagination. Even if it was in church when she was most aroused, imagining tongue-fucking the innocent plain-faced girl next to her under her pleated Sunday skirt ... with the barriers, she could push these thoughts out from her mind and resist.
But it was her nineteenth birthday, and she figured: why the fuck not? For most girls, of course, this was supposed to be the sort of wild, crazy moment in their lives when they were losing their innocence and inexperience to a guy some place shady and strangely frightening but perverse.
Instead, Morgan had spent the whole day as she would spend it tomorrow - at work, to a party of guests, many of whom were various friends of the family around 20 years her senior. Now I will be as saline as the ocean, as the cum that I feel squishing around up there on my g-spot, she thought. Now I will let myself be defiled like an animal, even if it is just me here alone, I'll be fucking sordid for the first time in my life ...
Suddenly the usual voices of hesitation and fear and uncertainty were erased by a giant jumbo-jet, packed to the brim with fuel and passengers and cargo, thundering full-speed through the no-fly-zones of her right hemisphere and into one of the great skyscraper structures that guarded the left.
The collision was inevitable: most of the petrol was already quickly burning up the wing-tips in a midnight bonfire. Instead of the usual process of delivering herself a quick half-orgasm, her whole body and mind resisted and stalled up.
Instead of feeling vaguely relieving, her vaginal lips felt like an inferno into unchartered tropical territory, a deathly hot and tingling climate. It was as if there was something working within her and through her, she thought - an immaculate orgasm, if not so much conception.
There, alone in her vast marble en-suite bathroom with the open-plan shower pummeling her fragile body with almighty aqua-jets of warm water behind the locked door, all her fantasies lunged towards the front of her mind at once, a vulgar and yet intensely stimulating cavalcade of mini-hallucinations.
As she pushed her vagina back towards the water jet behind her in a firmer, grinding motion, she imagined him taking her and thrusting his fingers deep into her wetness.
He was tall, stronger than her, his muscles able to control her every movement. She didn't see his face, but she knew it was beautiful. And she could feel his breath gently on her neck, his mouth moving further down to her nipples, sucking them. The tugging on her nipples increased the tingling in her vagina, prolonging the venereal pain that surges up when you force the body towards orgasm before it's adequately prepared.
She grabbed her right breast tightly as she thought about the immenseness of his physical force, the image of his hands violating her every sexual organ, every soaking wet orifice of her body, as clear and lucid as if the 20 year-old boy was in fact raping her hard and fast and carelessly here in the privacy and security of the giant mansion she was guarded in night-after-night. Just a year older than her, but so, so much stronger ...
And now he was about to pump her in every tender, private part of her body she half-believed should be kept sacred for the sanctity of marriage. But there was nowhere to escape here. The door was locked; the windows opened out into the warm summer evening over a twenty-meter plunge onto the gravel driveway. Her parents would never hear her scream. It irked her considerably: was she screaming out of pleasure or fear? It felt like gluttony, but a good, God-fearing gluttony ... a metastasis of body and mind in the prism where the overcast mid-afternoon of perjury meets heaven's bright city lights.
