A grueling, punishing workout at the gym, followed by errands, work, and too much time sitting in an uncomfortable chair. My muscles ached; my skin feeling faintly sticky with dried sweat.
Slowly lumbering up the stairs, I littered the ground with clothing. Tank top followed by shorts, panties followed by damp sports-bra, I was reminded of the preceding hours. My muscles twitched at the memory.
Gathering my hair into a clip on top of my head, I meandered into the bathroom. Jets of water soon rushed into the tub while I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Grateful that the mirror was only waist high, I inspected myself from all sides. Cupping my breasts, I moved them this way and that, wishing for a different body. I looked at my profile, tightening my stomach in the hopes of seeing something I enjoyed better.
Pouring lavender-vanilla scented bath beads into the tub, I checked the water’s temperature. Perfect – not too hot, not lukewarm. With the water still running, I stepped in and sank down, sighing as the warm water caressed my skin.
Laying back, fully prone, I watched as my skin pebbled with goosebumps. I stared at my toes, wiggling them above the water. I closed my eyes and luxuriated in the scent drifting around me. Finally, I sat up to turn the water off. With a contented sigh, I lay back against the tub, stretching my legs, letting my shoulders fall further into the water.
Framed by the water, my breasts were white and round, filled with buoyancy that only water allows. As the cool air kissed my flesh above the water, my white mounds became tipped with dark pink buds, aching to be touched. Happily, I obliged, stroking my breasts, circling my nipples, simply relishing in the sensations.
As I moved in the water, I felt waves lap against my mound. The warmth and the movement caused a stirring in my core. My hand sought out my very center. Fingertips touched the soft, new growth of hair, seeking petals and lips. Grazing my clitoris, I hissed between my teeth as my back arched and hips lifted.
Remembering the gift of one orgasm of my choosing that I had been granted, I smiled. With purpose, I stroked and rub my growing nub of tender flesh. Even in the water, my body reacted forcefully. Fearful of a too-soon orgasm, I pushed two fingers into my body, rubbing and tapping at the ridgy flesh, nearly cumming within seconds.
Eyes closed, toes curled, I brought my hand back to my clitoris. Circling harder, faster, insistently seeking my pleasure, I felt my pussy spasm as I cried out into the silent bathroom. Aftershocks rocked my body. Finally, I came down from the high to discover myself in a warm cocoon of purple-hued, delicious water that no longer smelled only of lavender and vanilla.
Looks like a very good use of the orgasm you were granted, I’m sure someone is very pleased with you.
I’m pretty sure someone is very pleased. 🙂
A very pretty little idyll, but as a writer, one thing jumped out at me. Every paragraph but the last begins with an adverbial clause: Slowly lumbering up the stairs…, Gathering my hair… Pouring bath salts into the water…Laying back in the water…etc. I have to think you weren’t aware of this habit or you would have varied the sentence structures to give more variety. I don’t mean to offend, just thought that observation might be helpful. 🙂
I’m very aware of the habit. It usually occurs when I’m tired of using “is” and “was” in every sentence. I could say it’s part of my writing style, but that’s not true either. When I fully edit myself, I don’t let that happen. It was laziness pure and simple – just writing to write, but little editing after the fact.
Glad you enjoyed it as a story. Good eye for catching that. 🙂