When She Buzzed
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While I studied the day’s sales figures, she kept calling me. Again, and again the “buzz, buzz” call drove me half-crazy and I knew it was her. She was relentless and so needy. But I had to concentrate, I had to get through the mountain of paperwork that just seemed to get higher each day. Who would have thought that years at university would see me as a paper-pusher? Welcome to the real world!My stress levels were getting higher than my Inbox, and boy, was I looking forward to the weekend and some down time, no, “me time.” The buzzing kept coming but she would just have to wait until I could give her my undivided attention.Friday finally came. “TFI, Friday” (Thank Fuck It’s Friday). A short ride and I was home. I stepped inside and closed the door on the world. Way too tired to do anything I simply soaked in the tub, almost nodding off a couple of times. I drank a glass, or two, of a chilled white wine, collapsed onto the bed, to be dead to the world.Saturday morning the familiar istanbul travesti Buzz buzz woke me from my deep sleep. “OMG she really is relentless.” My morning coffee was sweet and soothing but the constant buzzing and the news on TV brought my stress levels back.I turned the TV off and put on some soft background music to soothe my soul. With the fine weather, I decided to do my house chores wearing only my black panties. Not used to work half naked I became conscious of the swaying movement of my breasts. Every time I bent down to polish the coffee table or wipe the dust off the chairs my ladies made me aware of their existence. I could feel my nipples stiffening. Just to feel them so free drove sensations down to the valley between my legs. I clenched my thighs together. That felt so good that I did it a few times more. The clenching brought, as I knew it would, a little trickle into my panties.”Keep your hand away, Susan, you’ve done so well denying travesti istanbul yourself so far,” I reprimanded myself. Ignoring the criticism for a while, I allowed myself a few moments of pleasure by pressing by mound against the corner of the washing machine and sitting astride the arm of a chair.Once my chores were done, I relaxed on the sofa to let the music wash over me. Then she returned her relentless onslaught again; her constant buzz-buzz, calling me, no, craving for my attention. I had to give in, I couldn’t resist any longer, I had to accept her call.I cupped my naked breasts, worrying my nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, before sliding my hands over my smooth tummy to the top of my panties. Pulling up my legs, I bypassed my soaked panties to touch my silky thighs with both hands. As if drawn by a powerful magnet, my hands slipped to the V where my legs met my genitals. A little sigh escaped my lips as I first stroked my mound then cupped istanbul travestileri my pussy through my panties, my wet panties.But my tits called my hands back. I had to restart my self-love. My cupping and squeezing hands felt so good, and boy did my tits and nipples respond to my fingers. I kneaded the soft fleshy domes. I tried for the umpteenth time to reach and suck my own nipples, but all in vain. My boobs are not big enough and my neck not long enough. Maybe I might reach it with a few more yoga lessons.Pushing my tits together I thought of the last time John had his hard cock between them, enjoying a tit wank. I blinked, remembering how it stung when a string of his sperm hit my eye. That memory couldn’t stop my hands continue their caressing, flitting from tit to tit, from nipple to nipple. Squeezing, pinching, twisting.Looking down I watched my fingers slipping under the elastic top of my black panties. The color of material contrasted with the white of my tummy and thighs, so striking and erotic. Oh, I loved that feeling as my hand went down my panties. The only other hand that dared to move beyond that elastic was Kate’s. I remembered how her pink nail varnish was almost exactly the same shade of my panties than night.
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