Scenes from the Amaranth Room 01

8.

Kurt met me at the door of his classroom. My fears had been assuaged, at least for the moment. My son excitedly told me about his day and how much he loved school.

"Good," I thought. "If you can keep that attitude for another twelve years, you'll do just fine."

With mixed emotions, I had succeeded in weaning Kurt from my breasts, but now he always had something else in his mouth. Be it a toy, his fingers, or food, Kurt had to keep his mouth busy, so I had another habit to monitor and curb. It was just part of being a mom, I guess.

That night, my boy slept in my arms, as was his habit. I lie awake for an hour, staring at the ceiling, until his breathing had settled into a steady rhythm, a sure indicator that he was deeply asleep. I left the bedroom window open a few inches, allowing the scent of night to waft into the room. Light from the neighbor's carport created shadows on the curtains.

With great regret, I slipped away from my son, quietly tiptoeing from the nursery back to my bedroom, where I lie on top of the blankets. Closing my eyes, I slid my hand under the loose fabric of my pajamas. Gently, I teased my pubis, brushing my fingertips across the thick, curly forest between my thighs. I thought about the last time a man's penis had penetrated my body.

Yes, my youngest brother had tumbled with me one afternoon, well over a year ago, when the bedroom door slid open, leaving us to explain to Kurt exactly what his mother and uncle had been doing. Thinking back on that moment, I wasn't particularly embarrassed. I had orgasmed countless times while nursing. It was as if Kurt were another lover. Little did I know then what would develop when he reached adulthood.

In the darkness, with spots of light swimming before my eyes, I dipped my middle finger deep into my cave, firmly exploring its ridges and rough spots. Immediately, my hand became drenched in juices, and I smiled as a familiar flush of warmth spread throughout my body, culminating in my engorged, erect clit. Bringing my wet fingers to my mouth, again I tasted myself with delight.

Dipping again, I rubbed fresh juice all over my mouth, filling my nostrils with a pungent scent. Quietly, I worked my pussy through one orgasm after another, eventually slipping into unconsciousness, my hand still buried deep inside.

9.

After depositing Kurt at school the following morning, I drove straight back home. Examining the dildo, I discovered that, in my haste, I had put the batteries in backward. My heart almost stopped as the little tool sprang to life, buzzing angrily, like a bee on steroids. I laughed at my reaction and at the comical sound the silly device made. Hardly erotic, but within minutes, my attitude had changed. Moaning ever more loudly as my bare ass writhed on a hastily-tossed beach towel, I worked the sweet little dildo up and down the entrance to my cave. The buzzing noise quickened and slowed with the changing pressure of my hand.

"Oh...ohh...ahh...ahhnnggg," I clenched my teeth, grunting like an animal as I came again and again. Five orgasms and I had soaked the thick towel, but had also reached some level of satisfaction. I laughed inwardly, realizing my face had a grin that would do The Joker proud.

"Damn," I exhaled like a deflated balloon. "Damn!"

I made sure to lick the dildo clean.

The other device I had purchased came out of its box. After a quick perusal of the instructions (printed in five languages), I cupped the breast pump to my tit. Again, that same electrical vibrating noise filled my ears, but it worked. Shortly, I had drained my breasts and stared at a plastic container of fresh milk. I didn't want to toss it out, as it was part of me.

It went very well with Kurt's cornflakes.

10.

The noisy little vibrator turned out to be my best friend. Most mornings, after dropping Kurt at school, I would return home to let off a little steam. Spreading my trusty beach towel (I had purchased several more heavy ones so I wouldn't have to keep washing the same one every day) on the bed, I would pull down the shades and proceed to strip naked. Merely the removing my clothes; unbuttoning my blouse and jeans, the material sliding across my skin as I removed each article of clothing, my breasts falling free as I slid my bra straps down my shoulders, filled me with edgy arousal.

After placing my clothes neatly on the dresser, I would retire to the big, soft bed, making sure my ass was positioned on top of the beach towel. In the dim light, I would gently writhe, flexing my body, stretching my muscles, allowing the rough towel to tease my flesh. Closing my eyes, I passed my hands over my body, rubbing, squeezing, imagining my brothers loving me in the night, or perhaps the touches came from that gentle stranger I had conjured so often. His hands had become so familiar in my mind, yet his face could never be seen.

In my mind's eye, I went to that room I had built for myself, a room where nobody could see or hear me without my permission. It was where the gentle stranger lived and waited for me. In dreams, the room was large, with a high ceiling, but dimly lit - warm and cozy. Fine literature lined the north and west walls, adding a musty paper smell to the ancient wood and varnish baseboards and molding. Persian rugs positioned themselves beneath plush, comfortable chairs, and in the corner by the window was a big, soft, four-poster bed, flanked by two nightstands.

I'm not sure why the walls were painted amaranth. The color was reddish-rose, and made me think of fresh blood. Or, perhaps, amaranth was the color of my ardor and my soul's passion. Of the insatiable need that only grew with each passing day.

Everything I needed or wanted lie there, waiting. I had to be patient.