Washing Away the Week
She wanted release. The tension of the work week was now in the past. A Friday night alone proved to be the exact thing she needed.
All the chores at the end of the day completed, she retreated to the bathroom to begin her night of self. Clothes stripped, she stepped into the warm shower. The water, almost too hot, cascaded down her head, traveled along her neck, spilled over her shoulders and worked its way down the length of her entire body, taking the stress and tension with it as it all swirled down the drain. She set to the task of washing. First, her hair. She lathered and clawed, feeling the tingle on her scalp as she rinsed clean. The mask that she covered her face with every morning disappeared as it smeared across the cloth, now streaked with black, blush and red. The loofa, saturated with her favorite scented wash, traveled from neck to toes, scrubbing and erasing the skin of old, leaving her feeling refreshed and new.
Then, she couldn’t help but stand, feeling the warmth flooding across her pure and virgin skin. Her eyes closed and she imagined the touch of a thousand fingers moving down her body. Her own hands began to trace where theirs had been in her mind. She felt the smooth and slickness of the water on her skin, allowing her fingers to glide up and down her arms, connecting via her pinked décolletage. They slid down and fell over her now alert breasts. She slipped her hands underneath, between her tits and torso, feeling the weight in her palms as she let them slide across her hand, just enough until her erect nipples now pressed into those wet palms. Her thumb and middle finger began a decadent rubbing and pinching, light at first, ever so slowly increasing into a pain that produced a whimper from deep in her throat. Releasing herself from the pain, her hands continued to travel down her stomach, slipping over her newborn smooth sex, and into the wetness that the shower did not produce between her slit. Her finger found the button, waiting to be pushed, yet desiring to prolong this feeling of wanting and need. Her fingers slowly withdrew, turned the knob, and ended her glorious bath and unfulfilled fantasy.
She leisurely dried off, ran the brush through her towel-dried hair and twisted it up in a loose knot at the back of her head, securing it with a simple clip, tendrils falling free and cascading over her bare shoulders. She retrieved her favorite lotion and coated her skin with a moistening layer that glistened. After applying a softening cover of lacquer upon her pouty lips, she turned and retreated to the master bedroom.
She knew she was alone for the evening, but flannel pajamas just wouldn’t do tonight. She opened the drawer that contained her most coveted lingerie and pulled out her favorite pair of stockings. She slowly unfurled them over her toes, covering her ankles, clinging to her calves, ending up over her knees and sitting snugly upon her firm thighs. No garter needed for these comfortable beauties, they held steadfastly on their own. She smiled to herself, knowing these silly striped pretties made her feel young, carefree and playfully sexy. She stopped to admire herself in the full length mirror, taking note of her curves and how they spoke of her femininity.
She sat on the edge of her bed, and reached to retrieve her laptop from the side table. She rolled over onto her stomach, stretched her naked body across the satin sheets, crossed her stocking covered toes, and raised the screen. She began clicking and sliding her way through a maze of pages, until she came to the one she was looking for. It was His. She didn’t know him. She only worshiped him and the captivating, idyllic words he spun from afar. She would spend the remainder of the evening, pouring over the liquid sweet words he wrote, consuming them and wishing they were written for and about her. Little did she know…they were.
~I was looking for some inspiration this morning, and was lucky enough to find it. 🙂