I peer in, seeing only shadows and moonbeams. Her bed, I find, is right below me, and I take in her covered form resting tranquilly in the light. She is wearing nighties, of course, but the bulge of her chest is unmistakable, even in the dark. And…do I pray see an unfastened button, exposing a bit of cleavage? I bite my lip, nigh drawing blood, and the pulse coursing through me grows ever stronger; that is all the confidence I need in fulfilling my project. I work my way toward the front door again, this time with no distractions, and I wedge the bar in between the door and the frame, giving a quick yank, and with a second’s-worth cry of wood the door creaks open. I’m in… I realize I am at a threshold now: I can either proceed with my evil affair or go back the way I had come and suffer the long drive home. It takes all of a second to declare the latter as fucking ludicrous, as I had already traveled 35 miles for some fucking tits; I was not about to be denied by some last-second. I sighed quietly and moved to wash the rest of me, sliding fingers between my labia and allowed a quick dance over my clit. I rinsed out the netting and picked up the bottle of shampoo, holding out the palm of my hand to catch the liquid and again that fleeting thought “Looks like come” passed through my mind and with it, another stir between my legs. Washing my hair is sometimes a joy and sometimes a chore. Long and thick it depends on my mood on which it is. This morning it was a joy, feeling my fingers slip and slide through the suds as I leaned my head back and felt my fingernails sc**** lightly on my scalp. The only thing that would have felt better was a hand fisted in it with a breathy whisper across my ear. Fuck, that wasn’t just a stir between my legs it was almost a clench. I wonder if all women feel clenches, those moments when the inside muscles spasm simply from a word or a thought.I rinsed the soap from my hair, delighting again in the feel of the hot water.
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