I writhed alone in bed, filled with burning need. My pussy was wet, soaked through. My naked skin slid against the sheets as I squirmed, further stimulating me. My right hand began to inch towards my wanting pussy before I snatched it back. Not allowed. I whimpered loudly, begging someone who couldn’t hear me. How did this happen?
***
Earlier that day, I walked into my work at the main psychiatrists office in town, the morning sleepiness still clouding my mind. I was rubbing my sleepy eyes–I had woken up too late to put on makeup–when I ran directly into someone. My bag clattered to the floor, spilling its contents.
I dropped to my knees and began quickly collecting my things while apologizing, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
When I looked up at him, I had to crane my neck. He was tall, even accounting for my position on the floor. He had a smirk on his face, and reached down a hand to help me up. As I took it, he commented, “That’s alright. Got a bit of a sleepy start this morning, huh?” He had a slightly amused experession on his face, and I blushed a little. I looked like I had just rilled out of bed, with my frizzy hair and no makeup on.