Easy Like Sunday Morning

You stretch as you awake, limbs stiff, but careful not to slide across to my side of the bed, and knock me. Rolling onto your side, you smile expectantly. But I'm not there.

You're confused. You're pretty sure we went to sleep together last nite, your arm over my belly so you could pull me close enough to nuzzle the back of my neck as I chirped with sleepy pleasure, and surely I was there for this morning's early morning lovemaking, but the bed is now decidedly empty.

Propping yourself up, you call out. Perhaps I'm in the bathroom, or brewing up in the kitchen? But the flat is still in the way the only empty spaces come be. My fone is by the bed - wherever I've gone, I'll be back shortly. Making your way into the kitchen, you put the kettle on. My handbag is still on the table, but my keys aren't. It's clear I've just ducked out for a minute.

Taking your coffee back to bed, you continue reading your book. It's too early to start the day, and part of you hopes that I'll accept the invitation to come back to bed when I come back. You smile slightly at the thought - nothing beats a long, chilled out weekend in bed together, reading, talking, snoozing, touching...

Sure enough, my key turns in the lock in the next half hour. Throwing the sheet off, you head to the living room to greet me.

My lithe, tanned body is clad only in pink running shorts, and a singlet. So tight are my clothes they could have been painted on. Still regaining my breath, you don't say anything as I duck into the kitchen for a drink of water. With my iPod playing, I didn't hear you coming, and I'm still unaware you're watching as I start to stretch. With slow intensity, I work through my cool down, stretching out my ankles and calves, before lying down to stretch my back - running back up the hill from the beach to the flat on the pavement is always such a shit after running on the sand. With my head to the door, and my arms above my head, my shorts are pulled up between my legs, and it's clear that I'm not wearing anything underneath them. You're aroused by the sight, by the thought of the material pulling and rubbing across my naked pussy as I run. Is it your imagination, or are the shorts the tiniest bit wet?

I'm pulling my knees up to my chest, sighing with the pleasurable ache of the stretch, and providing an even more explicit view. There's something vaguely naughty about watching me without me knowing, and seeing so much, but it's erotic. You think, fleetingly, how glad you are that I came back home before stretching, jealous of the strangers who, no doubt, would have enjoyed this same view had I stretched down at the beach.

This cheekiness, however, does not prepare you for the fact that, after I finish stretching, I remain on the floor, and let a hand drift down my body. Slowly, circling and stroking my breast, my right hand slips down across my belly, and in between my thighs. I'm lightly teasing myself through my shorts, stroking and rubbing my pussy, and rocking my hips under my own ministrations. The teasing becomes more deliberate as I slide one, two, three fingers into my waiting self, my wetness leaving no resistance. A moan of pleasure issues from my parted lips, and now I'm moving harder against my hand, slipping my fingers in further, and pushing harder.

You're turned on, your hard cock straining against your briefs, and then you're stepping out of them, using your hands on yourself, and drinking in the picture of me on the floor, touching myself.

I'm sliding my shorts aside, pulling my lips open so I can tease my clit in juuust the right way. I'm dipping into my pussy, rubbing the wetness across my clit, my movements becoming erratic and more frenzied until, with quiet pleasure, I cum. My muscles tighten, my fingers still inside me, and from your position, you can see the shudders of pleasure running thru my whole body. To have a beautiful girl masturbating unashamedly, the wicked pleasure of this secret show - you're just as aroused as I am, and your hand tightens around your cock. Moving across to me, you're kneeling beside me, gently touching my face. I'm not startled - I'm too relaxed in my own pleasure - but tenderly in love with you. I sit up to kiss you, stroking your cheek gently, aware that you can smell my arousal on my fingers. "How, baby?" I whisper against your lips.

What first? My talented mouth? Or my wet, open pussy? Gently, you push me back down, before kneeling between my thighs, and pulling my wet shorts aside. Sliding into me, you moan at the sensation of the hot wetness around your cock as you bury yourself deep inside me.

I wrap my thighs around you, slowing your strokes. Intently, with great tenderness, we watch look at each other. This is intensely present lovemaking, and we're both in the moment, in each other, to the exclusion of the rest of the world.

With a long sigh, I begin to shudder again, drawing you into your own orgasm.

I am not afraid to cum with my eyes open. I like it when you watch.