A Writer's Secret

She sat there quietly on her couch, the laptop open, the screen blank and glowing. Her nostrils flared as she once again breathed in the scent of her arousal. It happened more often now than it used to. Some days she woke up smelling of heat and lust. She knew she should go shower, after all, surely others would notice the heady fragrance, yet. . .to wash away the scent would mean denying herself the pleasure of simply enjoying the very air around her.

Her hands moved away from the screen, she glanced down the hall, and bit her lower lip."Just one touch," she told herself as her fingers slipped under her skirt and across her soft downy mound."God; it's so hot," she thought. Three fingers pressed up against her slit and the moisture slipped easily onto her fingers. A whimper fell from her lips, drank up by the sound of the television that played in the background. She brought her fingers up and breathed in the aroma that now covered them. A sigh of pleasure and then a long, yet quick swipe of her tongue across the moist digits brought another sound of desire from her pink-hued lips.

The sound of the bathroom door opening, told her that her husband was coming back, so she quickly placed her hand back on the keyboard and began to write yet another erotic story that her mate would never read. He sat next to her. A frown of frustration passed her lips as she thought of what she wanted to do. The aroma was still thick in the air."Can't he tell?" she thought, glancing at him, while she squeezed her pussy muscles and felt her nectar slip free.

He read a book, oblivious to her needs and desires, at that moment. He rose from the couch and she watched him, listening to him ready himself to make a quick trip out to the car. She wouldn't have a lot of time, but already she could feel her pussy leaking the slick syrup that she longed to touch, syrup he thought was only his, never allowing her to cleanse his cock or his mouth when he was done taking her gift. He thought it was wrong of her to taste her own passion and so she never tasted herself when he was around. What she did, was always done in secret."Hurry up!" her mind screamed, and then finally he opened the door and walked outside. "Yes!"

Hurriedly she pushed her hand up her skirt and found the juicy bits and pieces of her sex. Her fingers worked feverishly at her clit, pulling, twisting, mashing it against herself. Her legs opened wide, accommodating her hungry hand. She listened to the sounds of his return, knowing he was just warming up the car and would be back soon. Realistically, she knew she couldn't bring herself to come that quickly with her hand, even her toy took at least a minute and a half. Just as her finger swept between her thick lips and grazed the opening of her pussy, his footsteps fell on the steps and the sound of the screen door opening rushed into her mind. As fast as lightning her hand was pulling her skirt down and then finding its home back on the keyboard.

"Do you want to pick up the kids with me? Or do you want me to come back and get you?"

His question startled her. She stopped writing her erotic story and glanced at him. The thought of being alone with herself and her toy chest brought a tightening to her sex and she licked her lips. Her hand and wrist were dry, though the perfume of her arousal coated her skin. She brought her fingers up and rubbed her face, as if she were trying wipe an annoying fleck of something away. The scent was intoxicating. "I'll stay here. It'll give me some time to change clothes."

"All right," he said and then sat back down, glancing at the time. He stayed there, while she wrote lusty pages of sex, pages he told her a long time ago, held no interest to him. She grew wetter, willing the time to pass. When he glanced again at the clock, she knew he was leaving. Anxiety filled her as he stood up and told her he'd be back in a bit. She said goodbye, not surprised there were no parting kisses. When the door closed, she left her work and went to her bedroom. Her pussy dripping with the need to come.

She grabbed her toy, saying a silent prayer in her head that it would work. The last time she used it, she'd noticed the connection was going bad, flickering in and out. She lay on the bed and pushed the vibrating cock ring against her clit. It was funny, she thought as she flicked the switch to high and felt the pulsating action slide over her. It was his toy, yet, because he got nothing out of it and she did, they didn't use it any more. She told him she liked fucking him when he wore the ring, the vibrating end would ram against her clit. With his cock pounding into her, the toy rolling shocks of pleasure across her, she would often come and beg for more. In the end though after three tries, he decided he didn't like it, because it didn't "do" anything for him. He tossed the toy away. She later picked it up, cleaned it and stowed it away with the other things he didn't like.

The woman knew she only had the minutes it would take to get the kids and come home. The school, just half a mile away, would be letting the kids out in fifteen minutes. She closed her eyes. Short red lashes fell on round cheeks, covering brown eyes that were slowly glazing with the need. She thought of a fantasy. The first being a man, she'd recently chatted with online. The talk had been innocent, yet suggestive toward the end. She imagined his fingers and tongue tickling her pussy. Her toy washed tremors across her clit. Thankful she was, that the toy's power was still working to her advantage, though she could tell the batteries too were growing weak.

Her mind altered her fantasy, putting a different face to the man between her thighs. A voice emerged, this one calling her names. . . names her husband would never call her.

"You're a slut. A fuckin' whore. Look at you, fucking yourself. You want a cock don't you. . ."

"Yes," she grunted to the voice in her head. Another fantasy slid in to take the man's place. It was of an older gentleman, a man she desired much more than she should have, but could not deny her attraction. She saw him, holding her ass in his hands as he looked up at her. His beard was salt and peppered, just like his short cropped hair. His eyes the most intense blue she'd ever seen. A whimper filled her lungs as she watched him swipe his tongue across her slit.

"Come on baby. . .You like this. Want it. You taste so good. Look. . .there's another cock for you. Take it. I want to watch you suck his dick."

She grunted low as her imagination took her on another ride. A friend from one of the forums she chats on was suddenly beside her and she turned her head, opening her mouth. In her mind she took a cock, while her lover lashed at her pussy. She sucked, listening to the two men tell her how beautiful she was. Hands seemed to come out of nowhere and touch her hair, pull her closer to the raging penis that was filling her mouth and then her throat. The older man changed and in his place was another gentleman. His gaze was heated. His mouth set in a firm, yet trusting line. The cock disappeared from her mouth and she gasped, as her climax came closer.

"Not yet."

The voice of her fantasy Master called out to her. She flicked the toy to a lower setting and let it rest on her clit. The steady hum was a welcoming pleasure. Her Master slapped her thigh and she let her mental games begin. One of her hands moved to her tit and she pulled the hard nipple. It was her Master's hand, twisting and kneading her fleshy globe. She felt his teeth on her skin, arched her back, so he could feel the hard nubs of her breasts rub his chest.

"I brought you something, slut."

She'd never heard her Master's voice, but she imagined it many times. The strength she imagined comforted her as yet another unanswered desire came to her. With her lids closed, she saw the woman. She was beautiful. Her body was the same body that the young author wanted. It belonged to a more dominate woman than the little writer would ever be. She watched as the make-believe woman climbed onto the bed and straddled her face. Her tongue snaked out and she tasted the succulent lips of another woman.

"She's all yours pet. Fuck that pussy."

Over and over she lapped at the cunt that was a gift to her from her lust-filled mind. Soon she was close to climaxing again and she knew she still had one more dream to live out. The image of the older man appeared again, this time he was over her. His cock in her face, his breath on her sex. "Daddy," she whimpered. The man wasn't her father, he was just a man older than her, but she wanted to pretend that naughty fantasy where she could be his "little girl."

"One taste, baby. Daddy just wants one taste. Can I?"

"Yessss..." The drawn out word fell from her lips as she imagined the man stroking her pussy and his cock driving deep into her mouth. Faster he moved. The vibe was plunged into high gear and the woman on the bed began to thrash back and forth. She groaned and whimpered, cried out and bit down on her tender lip. "Ooh fuck," she hissed as the orgasm began to take over.

Her fantasies disappeared, in their wake lay a black sheet of silk that seemed to cover her entire being. "Ooh God!" she grunted, forcing her hand to keep the tiny toy pushed hard against her sex. She came in waves, feeling the moisture soak her fingers, her slit, her sheets and the blanket that rested just over her cunt. A moment of panic filled her as she thought of the consequences if he found the bed slick and wet with her come. She pushed it away, forcing herself to concentrate on her climax.

When her pussy finished the forceful spasms and jerks that had been pushed from her, she opened her eyes, welcoming the spots that danced in front of her. Her breath came fast. Once she was calm she looked at the clock. Quickly she pulled the toy from her sex and watched in awe as her come dripped from the end. She thought of letting it drip into her mouth, but stopped herself. If she did that and he kissed her when he got home, he would taste her on her lips. She put her toy away, knowing she'd clean it as soon as she was done dealing with the wet stain on the bed.

The blanket was spread out, the portable heater in the room turned on higher and aimed so the spots on the covers and the mattress's sheets would dry. She grabbed a T-shirt and wiped herself dry. A pair of slacks replaced the come-soaked skirt. Running her fingers through her hair, she gave herself a mental shake, before taking the toy and dashing to the bathroom. Once more she hurried through her secret and washed the evidence of her sin. The clock chimed and she knew he would be home within a matter of minutes.

When the toy was securely hidden away, she slipped back onto the couch and began to write her story. The door behind her opened and her children walked in followed by their father, her husband. She listened to them as she felt the difference in herself. For a short while, she knew she was free of the lust she was often denied.