Not a productive morning – Wet Poet Society 1 [F][Solo][mast]

It wasn’t going to be a productive morning, that much Mary knew the moment she had struggled her way through the first lonely sentence of her newest book project. Most of the time she loved working in the morning when her brain was still well-rested and the ideas fresh and not even the beautiful nature around her house had woken up, but then there are exceptions to every rule and this day looked like one of them.

Staring at the notebook screen on the table in front of her she sighed and leaned back in a last attempt to focus, but the ideas she had fallen asleep with had vaporized. Of course it wasn’t the first time and normally she had a plan B in the form of blog posts but she had enough of a backlog of finished posts for months and really didn’t feel like wasting her time on increasing it any further.

No, it certainly looked more like a slow morning to her, like enjoying the luxury of a flexible schedule she had worked so hard for when she had still been working a full-time dreaded office job in addition to her writing.

Years of stress, exhaustion and living a second life had ultimately paid off and afforded her this nice little cottage close to the forest and far from anything she hated, so why not dwell in that luxury for a while?

There was no one in the house with her, no one even close enough to hear it if she were to fire off a gunshot and that above all the other luxuries she enjoyed these days meant pure freedom.

At any given time in her life she had been surrounded by more people than she liked to be around at the same time – or liked in the first place. Money and a semi-safe future aside the lack of people to deal with never failed to bring joy to her heart. No one would care or even notice if she wasn’t bringing her A-game all day every day, if she had wasted money on a haircut to look ‘professional’ or cut the hair herself to avoid spending a ton of money on an unpleasant experience with more people she couldn’t stand.

And who would complain if she were to take a masturbation break right there, right then? No one, that’s who. She was still dressed in her warm, comfy pyjamas so there wasn’t even the low hurdle of restrictive clothing, just a standing invitation. And what was more insulting than rejecting a friendly invitation?

Mary allowed her fingers to slip under the fabric, overcoming the slight resistance of the pants pressed against her stomach before they dived head first into adventure. She always loved these first seconds the most, when her brain was still trying to catch up with the touches her body was already reacting to. With her mind still sort-of clear she had a few moments to wonder how something she had done consistently her whole adult life could still feel different each time, but then her vision already started to become cloudy and she lost the thought in favor of emotions.

She caught glimpses of her surroundings, from her feet on the table dangerously close to her laptop over the trees outside the window to the fog that lay between them and her house. All of them disappeared into the back of her mind as quickly as they had come, like traffic flowing past her when she was still biking to work each morning.

Her thoughts lingered there for a second or two, wondered how she had not died in a couple of situations over the years before a clear moment stepped in and she noticed her body tensing up, shivering slightly in the morning cold and the relaxed, almost silent moan escaping her lips before she let two fingers dive into the warm wetness of her pussy and the moment of clarity was gone again.

Flashes of her current book projects and new ideas flew past her inner eye and she tried to hold onto them because those ideas were pretty damn good. Had been pretty good, or would have sounded nice on the page if she could still remember them the next second.

In a sudden rush of anger with herself she intensified her rhythm, putting her whole body in overdrive mode as the forceful pushes of her fingers increased the frequency of short breaths and audible moans. For some reason her last boss crossed her mind, not because she had liked him even the slightest bit but because she knew she was now free of his influence and she didn‘t have to hurry to the bathroom for a quick masturbation break anymore.

Then his stupid face was gone as well, replaced with the faces of her few remaining friends, a day they had spent camping by a lake laughing and drinking around a campfire long past their usual bed time. She was pretty sure some of the faces she saw hadn‘t even been there that day, but before she could scold her brain for playing tricks on her she had forgotten about it again as her body was overcome by a shiver.

Damn it, it was the usual phase when the orgasm was closing in faster than she wanted, she enjoyed this frantic state too much to stop yet. Against better knowledge she tried pushing it back by slowing down her pace, but all that did was making her experience the orgasm creeping up with open eyes, knowing it would be much too short.

The next second her nerve ends exploded from the middle of her body outwards, making her back bent with her fingers still inside her and pushing all air out of her lungs in one long moan that seemed to never end, depleting her of all air she so desperately needed to breath.

For some reason the first thing her eyes picked up as her vision became clear again was the tip of her feet clad in think white socks and her first thought was why she hadn‘t long broken out the comfy winter socks now that fog and fallen leaves were daily occurrences.

Then the rest of the room came back into view and Mary felt yesternight‘s ideas and plans flow back into her, making her fingertips ache with desire to put them to paper.

But first some coffee.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/7c8be7/not_a_productive_morning_wet_poet_society_1