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Voice by: victoriawhita
words by: starkhadre
I woke up alone. We'd only been together for a few months, but I found I could miss him rather quickly in the cold dark of night. He was becoming a writer, possessing a kind of violent brilliant that stunned me every time I read one of his pieces. Seeing him put such astonishing thoughts on paper seemed incredible, like some sort of magic. He worked at night, when the mood or the inspiration struck him, and he slipped from my bed to answer the urge to create magnificent things about dragons and sorcerers and elves. I usually lay in bed while he worked, listening to the quiet clicking of the keys as he wrote. Then I would welcome him back into my bed when the words had gone dry and he fell exhausted against the pillow.
But tonight I was restless, full of dark and brooding energy. I stepped from the bed and went to the window, looked out over the snarling city toward the smug, fattened moon. I folded my arms across my chest, enjoying the smooth satin of my short nightgown as it shifted against my cool skin, shivering a little as the lace at the edges of the low cut neck nipped at my arms and pressed against my breasts.
Tonight I missed him badly. We'd both been busy at our day jobs, hadn't really spent all that much time together in almost a week. I watched the traffic in the street under the window, wanting him badly, the channel between my thighs aching for him. I slid my hand slowly over the slick, creamy satin and cupped myself, pressed my palm against my vulva until I could feel the solidity of my pubic bone behind the soft flesh, feet the heat of my need burning me through the cloth. I cupped and squeezed my left breast with my other hand, pinched the hardened, tingling nipple and tugged at it as he liked to do. I bit my lip, beginning to breath hard, almost desperate for him now. To hell with his work, I wanted him, and badly.... (continued in audio)