Number One Fan - Homecoming

I park the car behind Steve's. I am surprised that he is home at this time of day, but I am pleased because I am still horny from the gratifying meeting with the nineteen-year-old number one fan of my stories.

We had fucked for most of the night and yet, even after we had missed breakfast due to waking so late we had fucked wildly in the shower. Oh how I envy his girl!

The trip back home is a blur; I just don’t remember the journey at all, but no matter as Steve would have missed having my body next to him, and my hand stroking his hard cock, so I will have no problem getting him to suck and fuck my wanting pussy.

With that wanting in mind I creep through the house listening carefully in order to locate my husband's whereabouts. Soft noises seem to be coming from upstairs in the bathroom adjoining the master bedroom so quietly and with mounting excitement I decide to undress and to surprise my man with my naked body.

The jacket is first and I fold it neatly on the canapé pushed against the wall. In the full-length mirror on the wall I admire my reflection and pose, pushing out my breasts, pulling in my tummy and curving my back to emphasise my ass. High heel shoes give me height and accentuate the length and slimness of my calves. Moving closer to the mirror I giggle as deliciously wanton thoughts of being on stage as a stripper invade my mind. Slowly I unbutton the prim and proper white blouse, firstly baring lightly tanned cleavage, then bit by bit the halter-neck plain white bra.

As I have seen strippers do, I “towel” my back with the top, adding a shake of the shoulders which causes my breasts to wobble to and fro within the constraints of the bra and causes me to giggle softly. Dropping the top to the floor and unclasping one strap of the halter, I tug it causing one breast to jiggle violently. My spontaneous giggle at the sight of it in the mirror has me looking around furtively like a naughty schoolgirl doing what her mom had said not to do.

The clasp at the back releases easily but I hold the bra covering both breasts and tease the mirror by exposing then hiding again each breast in turn but hiding the nipples, each of which are now engorged with blood and erect and desire to be sucked. With a great flourish I tear the bra from my body to expose my breasts now truly firm with desire pumping through my body, driven by a heart that is beginning to beat fast. Arms outstretched I shake my boobies at the mirror, imagining the crowd of horny guys just feet from the imaginary stage. Now, throwing dignity and decorum to the wind I strut the floor in a wanton display of my half naked body.

But I think that my full-length mirror now wants more so, thrusting my hip sideways I slowly unfasten the tight skirt, slipping the zip down half way then up again, teasingly. With the zip undone I wiggle my hips as I tug the fabric down over my hips, but oh so slowly and with a Marilyn Monroe lick of the lips and a pout to the mirror.

Now the skirt drops to the floor and I step out of it with exaggerated lifting of my knees but hiding from the mirror what it is that all the imaginary horny guys that are behind it want to see. I turn my ass to the mirror and look over my shoulder to see legs encased in nylon which reach up to bare butt cheeks from which emerge the thin cord of a thong. The thong is a present from my distant lover. Not the only pair that he had brought me, as he insisted that I wear panties as we fucked so that he had souvenirs to take with him and to, as he put it “bury his nose in and imagine that it is still parting my pussy lips”.

Bending forward slightly at the hips and with my ass still pointed at the mirror I hook a thumb under each side of the string at my hips I wiggle my hands, pulling the thong down just a little, feeling the fabric move between my cheeks and over my juicy pussy lips. After teasing my “audience” I step out of the undies, turn, and hold them triumphantly above my head then to my nose and imagine that I hear the guys moan in frustration as I do what it is that they desire to do.

Facing the mirror full on, with feet apart and knees bent I display to the mirror my bare but aching pussy. Surmounted by just a narrow strip of blonde hair, thoroughly blood engorged inner labia protrude out of their normal hiding place and are slick with vaginal fluids. Running the palm of both hands down over my tight belly they meet at the blonde hair where one hand, middle finger leading, pushes the other aside to be first to feel the silkiness and wetness of my pussy.

Middle finger presses hard as it runs tantalisingly over my clitoris which begs more attention. The finger continues on, over and between puffy lips, dipping indulgently into the cleft. Almost automatically my head goes back and my mouth opens to express a soft moan of pleasure.

It can surprise me that at times of intense sexual pleasure that my verbal expression of that emotion appears to come not from me but someone distant; it happens now and I stop for a second caught between the desire to continue ministrations to my itching, demanding pussy, to continue on to orgasm, and the strange feeling that it is not I from whom the last moan originated. Subconsciously I raise the wet finger to my mouth and suck it whilst listening intently to the sounds in the house. I hear only the normal sounds of a still and ostensibly empty home, and prepared to renew the pleasure that my finger has begun as it explored my pussy.

As a determined digit begins to explore evermore insistently at the source of my needs I hear the sound again; and it sounds like it should be me! But its not! The source is somewhere in the house, I listen again. Nothing. My fingers continue scrabbling at my pussy as I creep through the house as if I am an intruder.

At the top of the stairs I stop and listen intently, and detect muffled sounds emanating from the bedroom. My hand on the handle eases open the heavy door the merest amount and I strain to discover anything untoward in the room but all looks normal. Opening the door further I now see most of the room and into the bathroom beyond; there is nothing. Bolder now, I stand erect and walk in, relieved that no-one is there. I smile with relief and remember that Steve often leaves his car at home and cycles to his office; that the sounds are all in my imagination. That will teach me to indulge my sexual fantasies.

Without warning, from behind me an arm encircles my neck and bends back my head, then something sticky is pressed to my mouth, it prevents me crying out! The similar band to that which now prevents me from speaking is pressed over my eyes and prevents me seeing. Thankfully this band is not sticky. Strong hands grab my arms and quickly bind them together behind my back. Whoever it is bears down strongly on my body so that I am unable to use my legs to defend myself, I am helpless. Who is this person, what does he want!

Naked but for stockings and heels I am picked up and launched into the air. I scream in panic as I fear that I shall be terribly hurt, but the band over my mouth prevents anything but a small sound from escaping. I land, not on the hard wooden floor, but never-the-less the bed knocks the air from my lungs as I land on it. With dread I realise that my attacker now has me in a position for what terrifies a woman; rape!

There has been not a sound from my assailant apart from a grunt or two. Do I know him? Is he fearful that I will recognise his voice, has he a strong or distinctive accent?

I hear him approach the bed and I recoil in fear, trying to roll away from the sound of his footsteps. Then something strange, the hint of perfume. Has he some fetish that drives him to apply some of my perfume? I sniff deeply but I don’t recognise the scent as anything I have, indeed it smells rather cheap. I kick out wildly with my feet, hoping to inflict at least some injury on the attacker; I am determined to defend myself at all costs. My actions are arrested by the touch of a hand on my breast, it is not brutal or rough, but indeed it is gentle, the touch is soft and the fingers appear slim, not at all the hand of a rapist. My mind is in turmoil, what is happening?

With soft, gentle movements the fingers caress and massage one breast, then in a similar way another hand and fingers caress the other breast and I realise that I have forgotten to struggle although my body still shakes with fear and the rush of adrenaline. Once again I twist my body, kicking out with my feet, desperate to contact any part of my strange attacker.

I am becoming tired and in a pause in my thrashing and kicking I am shocked by the touch of lips on a nipple. The lips kiss and roll the teat firmly between them followed by a soft sucking action. Having very sensitive breasts and nipples it is impossible for me to avoid the inevitable effect of the action applied and I am aware that my nipple erects immediately. Worse still is the warm tongue that applies saliva to each nipple leaving that thrill of a chill as the tongue leaves. Oh dear God I am being subjugated by the simple application of lips and tongue to sensitive nipples and all I know of the person is that he is a possible rapist!

As the lips and fingers continue their caressing of my too sensitive breasts and nipples I desperately try to equate in my mind their tenderness, the sense I have that the fingers do not match the strength and size of those that first attacked me. What should I do, continue to fight or lie still and enjoy an experience that has changed from a nightmare and is becoming frighteningly pleasurable?

I am learning something about myself in these bizarre circumstances. It would appear that I have within me the dubious quality of submission. Those that know me well would laugh and claim that on the contrary I am feisty.

Something brings me back from my reverie and to reality; how long have I permitted cool fingers to brush over my pussy without protest? There are too many things happening at once, lips continue to persuade my nipples to remain erect, a hand caresses my body and now the fingers find my clitoris and so gently, so teasingly begin a circular motion designed to raise my temperature. There is no doubt now in my mind that the fingers are of a female, a female who knows just what to do and where, to excite and persuade her victim into total submission.

So I begin a pretence of submission, determined to take any advantage that I perceive. The moan that I issue does not help my confidence as I seem to have no control over its issue.

… to be continued