This is the first Wank Wednesday I've done in a while! But you know, the mood took me, and I liked the idea. The prompt this week is plum.
Sometimes I still can't honestly believe the place is mine. It has all the period features you'd expect – visible low slung beams and a cute little kitchen and a massive fireplace. The fireplace is my favourite bit. I furnished the slightly threadbare cream carpet with a luscious fluffy plum-coloured rug I found at a local antique market. Something about that deep shape of purple just makes me feel sensual and relaxed. My evening routine fast became lazing about in front of a blazing fire, just me and a glass of wine and some Bob Dylan on the record player. I would snuggle up on the rug and gaze up at the beams and I blush to say there was a little bit of self love too.
After a few months though, I was bored. I found it difficult to meet new people and make friends. All the decent men were clearly already happily married, living their own idyllic countryside dreams with 2.4 children. I absorbed myself more in my work in order to forget how miserable I was becoming. One night after I’d worked much too hard and drunk one too many glasses of red I dozed off in front of the fire.
I woke up suddenly with that strange sense of someone else in the room that you can never quite explain. I just knew there was someone there. My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room as I sat up and there she was, sprawled on the other end of the rug like a cat, watching me with lazy eyes.
“Who are you?” I spluttered, foggy with sleep and confused as heck as to where this stranger had suddenly appeared from.
“Ssh,” she said quietly, “just relax.” I was too stunned to reply as she raised herself up onto her arms and crawled across the floor towards me, her curvaceous ass swinging behind her. She was dark skinned with long curls which spilled around her shoulders and over her chest. Her eyes gleamed in the darkness. Her grin could only be described as seductive.
“I don't understand,” I said feebly, wondering what on earth she thought she was doing. The way that she climbed on top of me as I lay on the rug spoke volumes about her intentions. “I don't swing that way,” I added, wondering if that would make her stop. I’m not into girls, I never have been...
“Why are you so wet then?” she asked innocently as she unbuttoned my trousers and wriggled them down my hips.
“I'm not,” I began, but her fingers dipped into my pussy then and it was apparent that I was wet. Incredibly wet. Uncomfortably wet. I moaned as she thrust one, then two fingers inside my sodden hole and slowly drew them in and out. My brain tried to wonder how I could be so turned on but was distracted by the wondrous sensation of her soft fingers splaying inside me, reaching up to hit my g spot in a way my boyfriend had never quite managed. She withdrew her fingers and sucked them thoughtfully as a I pined for her touch once more.
“I still don't get it,” I said. The woman said nothing, just pulled my trousers and then my pants off as I wondered if I should do something or stop her or start screaming because there was not only a stranger in my house but one that seemed intent on fucking me, despite my not having any lesbian tendencies.
“That's okay,” she said, “because I intend to give it to you.” She pulled my legs apart and crouched down between them, trailing her damp fingers up my bare thighs and making me sigh contentedly. “Mmm, you do have a beautiful pussy,” she remarked, before thrusting her fingers back inside me as she bent down to take my clit in her mouth. I was entranced by the sight of her ass waving in the air as she sucked and nibbled at my trembling bud. Unsure what else I could do, I lay back and gave in as she worked away at me, building me up until I crashed into an orgasm so wonderful and so satisfying that tears were streaming down my face by the time I'd finished. I looked up to ask again who she was but she'd disappeared.
I woke up again then, even more confused than the first time. My cunt ached. Dream orgasms weren't so unusual but when I sat up I realised that my trousers and pants were discarded on the rug, exactly where the woman had left them. I rubbed my eyes and took myself to bed, convinced that I must have dreamed the curious incident.
She visited me twice more that week, each time when I fell asleep on the rug, never when I dozed off in the arm chair or when I collapsed into bed, exhausted by the sex workouts that she was giving me. Each time she explored my body further, taking me to the precipice of sheer bliss and disappearing when I cascaded into climax after earth-shattering climax. The second week she came I tried again to tell her that I was straight but my the time she'd done with me I had rescinded the statement. Never before had my body been treated the way she treated it. I spent my days in a bleary haze, wondering how to make her visit me again. I started to wonder if I could do the things to her that she was doing to me but she never hung around long enough to ask. After three weeks of all-consuming lust I realised I needed to find out what was going on. I took myself off to the market where I'd bought the rug, wondering if there was something I should know about
When I got to the market I realised how ridiculous the idea was. Did I think the rug was possessed or haunted or something? Could I really just come out with such a stupid question? I was still quite new here and it was a small village. Word would get around that I was crazy and nobody would talk to me. I made my way to the stall pensively, no idea what I would say when I got there. I quickly tried to come up with some excuse for coming back. Perhaps I wanted something else the stall holder had to offer.
As I weakly attempted to make conversation with the kindly older lady that had sold me the rug, I noticed an ass bent over some boxes in the corner of the stall. I would have recognised that ass anywhere; it was the one that haunted my every waking moment and dominated my dreaming ones. As the owner of the ass stood up my mouth fell open in shock. It was her. The woman that had ruined me for men with her wicked mouth and prying fingers. Long curls of hair bounced down her back and her eyes were as shiny and bright as I remembered. I stared at her dumbfounded as she handed something casually to the stall holder, barely giving me a moments notice.
“Is this it, mum?” she asked. The lady smiled and took in my expression.
“This is my daughter,” she said, introducing us. The daughter smiled and said hello. She didn't seem to have any idea who I was. I was inwardly gutted. I'd come here looking for an answer and still didn't seem to have one. I was about to turn and leave when the stall holder was called to another customer and the girl grinned at me knowingly, that wicked gleam in her eye that made me instantly wet. It was a sign. It had to be. I took the plunge.
“Would you like to go for a drink sometime?” I asked. Perhaps this was social suicide, perhaps not. It had to be worth a shot. The girl looked at me for a few moments more and then chuckled softly.
“What if I don't swing that way?” she said playfully.
“I used to think that,” I said. “But give me a try. You never know.”
“Sure,” she said with a wink, “you just never know.”