The last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, the pink and purple afterglow just barely illuminating the white washed walls of my bedroom. I took this as my cue to rest, though I still had mountains of boxes to unpack. Back at home. Home, what a foreign concept.
This was my third night back in my father's house, after my latest failed attempt to leave the nest. For nearly two years I'd been repeating this pattern, high hopes of moving in with friends, getting out on my own, but then the reality hit me and Id panic, quit my job, pack back up, and cower like a kid at dad's place. It's pathetic.
I caught my reflection in my mirror. Turned in profile I have all the right curves; at least I think so. I can still see the vestiges of the small, skinny girl I used to be, but I had come to accept my petite frame. My breasts have, finally, begun to fill out. They aren't huge, but they are firm and round. Long chocolate brown hair, nice smile, clear blue eyes. "Why can't a pretty girl like you hold on to a man?" I ask myself, slinking away from the mirror and crumbling on to my bed. I felt a lump form in the pit of my stomach, and work its way to my throat, remembering Dan, my most recent ex, who left me for my best friend. I had lost them both, really. Just a week ago now, I had come home from work and walked in on the two of them, screwing in our living room. I still can't shake the image of my boyfriend pumping in to that whore, and when he turned to look at me, that smug prick had the biggest smile on his face. I should have expected, you can't ever trust a man, but, still, my best friend. How could I forgive Amanda for this? We have been friends for years, both of us shipped off to that boarding school at the age of 11. She had gone because the Academy was where women in her family had always gone, for four generations. I went, funded by my mother's life insurance policy, because my father simply didn't know what else to do with me.
The air in my bedroom is sticky, and the open window does little to relieve the heat. I willed myself to get up and turn on the small box fan, and double-check that my door was locked before beginning to strip off my sweaty clothes. The last time I'd been home, my poor father had walked in on me in various states of undress, both in my room and in the bathroom, half a dozen times. I really have to get myself in the habit of at least closing the doors all the way, let alone locking them. Perhaps it's the constant heat in Florida. I have never gotten used to it since moving back, and I hate the thought of closing off any circulation. I usually leave the door propped open, especially when I shower so the steam doesn't build up. The first time Daddy walked in on me, I just barely had enough warning to wrap a towel around myself. I'm sure he still saw everything, and I was too embarrassed to look him in the eye for almost a week. Dad never forgets to close doors. I never have a problem with it either, really, except here.
Dad will be home from work soon. Like usual, he'll knock on my door to ask if I want any dinner, and we'll stumble through yet another silent meal. My father doesn't seem disappointed in me, just sad. As far as I know he doesn't have a girlfriend, not a lot of close friends at work, and now with his 19 year-old daughter coming and going from his house, disrupting his life every couple of months... "Poor dad," I whisper to myself, falling back in to my bed, curling in to the pillows and blankets. A young father, his wife dying so suddenly just a few years after they met, just a few years after I was born. He's all I've ever had, my father, and I feel like such a failure every time I have to come running back here. Every time I ruin my life and he has to take care of me.
The stress and exhaustion of moving has caught up with me, and my body feels too heavy. Tossing and turning in the sheets, I let my mind wander, remembering Dan. He hurt me, yes, but I still miss him. Miss the way he held me at night, hands slithering across my thighs, pulling my legs apart, he was rough and demanding, but he always left me satisfied. I start to let my own hands drift, but it's so hot, and instead I drift off in to a fevered sleep.
--
A cool breeze blew through the room. It was black except for the thinnest sliver of moonlight through the window. I could hear breathing, deep and even, behind me. Suddenly, rough hands gripped my arms from behind and forced me forward. Bent over the foot of the bed, those hands slowly worked their way to my hips, sliding over my torso and down around my belly. Calluses on the palms felt rough on my soft skin, and they held me just a bit too tight. Strong hands, strong arms... I felt so safe. The hands found my breasts, squeezing my warm flesh, pinching my nipples until they stood hard, and sore. My nipples have always been so sensitive, and I swear I could feel every nerve responding to my lover's touch.
He pushed me further, resting his weight on my back. My breathing was muffled by the pillows, and he was so heavy, I felt like I was sinking in to the bed. I clawed at the mattress, desperate for air. Suddenly, he pulled back on my hair, and I gasped for breath. One arm was still under me, slowly rolling my nipples between his strong fingers. "So good," I moaned, "harder, please..." soft mewling noises rose up from my throat. My body was on fire. My pussy was aching. I slipped a hand beneath my hips and strummed my clit while he tugged on mytits, the little shock waves of pain rippling through my torso down to my pussy, already dripping wet.
"You like it rough, baby?' His voice was a low growl. "You want it hard?" He grabbed my shoulders, flipping me to my back to face him. "Get on top." His face was so close, his crystal blue eyes flashed with hunger. He forced my thighs apart with his knee, and I saw his cock, huge and thick, pressed between us. "I know what you need, baby girl." I wanted him, all of him, I wanted his cock buried deep inside of me. Everything froze. My vision blurred. I fought to stay, but it felt like the world was fading, and suddenly he was out of reach. --
I woke with a start, tangled in my sheets. I felt for my lover beside me before I realized it had been a dream. The clock on the dresser said 11:30, I had slept right through dinner. I threw on a shirt and crept to my door. No lights were on in the hallway. I opened my door and peeked my head out. The house was silent. Dad must have gone to bed early. I walked down the hall to the kitchen, got a glass of water, and returned to my bedroom. My mind was reeling from the dream. So vivid. My body must have agreed. My nipples stood, clearly visible through my thin tshirt. My panties were soaked. I slipped them off and lay myself back down, closing my eyes to relive the fantasy. It must have been Daniel. I danced my fingertips across my stomach and tried to recapture the image. Those hands, calloused on the palms, holding me tight. Not aggressive, but firm. I wished for those hands to cup my breasts, kneading them. Daniel slowly rolling the little buds of my nipples between his fingertips, taking one gently in his lips. I caressed my own breast, the flesh soft and hot. I raked my nails across the mound, the little stings of pain heightened like all of my sensations.
I drew tiny circles with my left forefinger over my clit, dipping slowly in to the wetness beneath, then back up. I traced my fingers over my tiny inner lips, plump with my arousal. I ventured closer to my center, just brushing the tiny opening. I called out, softly, little moans, remembering the deep voice from my dream. Get on top. So commanding. I slid just the tip of my middle finger in to my slippery pussy, still kneading my breasts with my right hand. I pinched my nipple, twisting, the electric shock running right through my body. I was burning up, panting with need. I was dripping wet. I slid my finger in further, every nerve ending responding. I fucked myself slowly, careful not to touch my clit. I felt my orgasm, so very, very close, edged on by my fingers, stroking the walls of my pussy, my juices seeping out on to the sheets. I needed to cum. I know what you need. His blue eyes fixed on me, spread open on the bed. A small voice in my head broke through my fantasy, "Daniel's eyes are brown." But I could see the man from my dream, his eyes were... and who's voice was...
