Her First Fisting
By Olivia Lyons
Rhea’s soft fingertips grazed across her sensitive skin, stroked the wetness between her legs, and aroused in her a hazy, dreamlike lust. Dirty thoughts of some man – no one in particular – flitted into her mind. The mystery man would caress her, lick her, dominate her…he’d do anything she asked to make her come.
She circled her clit slowly with one finger, enjoying the sensations that crept up on her, but not wanting to get off just yet. Her body desperately wanted a release, and she got close several times, yet backed off just before going over the edge. Delaying herself would make her orgasm even stronger, and she was a patient woman. She could make herself wait just a little longer.
The scent of brewing coffee drifted past her nose, then the tantalizing aroma of cooking food. Rhea’s mouth watered as she teased herself. Maybe her fantasy man was making her breakfast. God, men who cooked were so very sexy.
A TV turned on somewhere, and the sound of the weatherman’s voice distracted her a bit. Still, she forced herself to ignore it and press on. She was close now, and she couldn’t wait any longer.
“Oh, fuck me,” she murmured as she finally gave in to her body’s demands. The first stab of pleasure took her over, the intensity of it enough to make her moan and shake.
And then there was a squeaking sound, like rusty metal in need of lubrication. Then footsteps, somewhere close. Wait, footsteps? Rhea opened her eyes at last.
There stood a man, watching her, shock and disbelief written all over his face. Without meaning it, she stared into his brown eyes as she came. This man was watching her, but she couldn’t just turn off an orgasm, and it felt so damn good that she didn’t want to, either.
She clamped her hand down over her mouth, even though she wanted to groan and swear and scream.
After this moment of bliss passed, it dawned on her that she wasn’t in her bed at home. In fact, she wasn’t even in her house.
The man, his face red and beads of sweat dripping from his brow, looked at her as if waiting for an explanation.
“Who are you, lady, and what the hell are you doing in my house?”
She wished she knew. Then it hit her – she’d been sleepwalking again. Mortified, she buried her face in her hands and prayed the man wouldn’t press charges for breaking and entering.
“I’m so sorry,” she told him. “It’s these insomnia pills I’m taking. Sometimes they make me sleepwalk, and then I end up in very strange places.”
His gaze fell to her underwear, which she’d thrown on the floor in her half-asleep stupor. As bad luck would have it, these ones were bright purple, with a strand of pink sequins wrapped around the waistband. They looked like something a porn star would wear. Rhea silently chastised herself for not wearing nicer panties to bed.
“So, let me get this straight.” He leaned against the wall and rubbed his temples as if staving off a headache. “You sleepwalk into other people’s homes, go to their bedroom, and then…”
She snatched up her panties and pulled them on. Thankfully, she still wore her nightgown. She’d be even more embarrassed if she’d taken it off somewhere.
“I don’t know how I got in here. Maybe you left the door unlocked.”
She stood and looked out the man’s bedroom window to figure out where she was. To her relief, there was her house just next door.
“That’s where I live,” she said, pointing to her home. “You know, this could have ended up way worse. Once, I got in my car and drove three towns over just to get a cheeseburger.”
He raised an eyebrow. “While you were asleep?”
She nodded and wondered why she was sharing this with him, a total stranger. After what she’d just done, she should have bolted out his front door and never looked back. But this man’s eyes showed a flicker of curiosity and interest in her plight, so she stayed.
It helped that the
By Olivia Lyons
Rhea’s soft fingertips grazed across her sensitive skin, stroked the wetness between her legs, and aroused in her a hazy, dreamlike lust. Dirty thoughts of some man – no one in particular – flitted into her mind. The mystery man would caress her, lick her, dominate her…he’d do anything she asked to make her come.
She circled her clit slowly with one finger, enjoying the sensations that crept up on her, but not wanting to get off just yet. Her body desperately wanted a release, and she got close several times, yet backed off just before going over the edge. Delaying herself would make her orgasm even stronger, and she was a patient woman. She could make herself wait just a little longer.
The scent of brewing coffee drifted past her nose, then the tantalizing aroma of cooking food. Rhea’s mouth watered as she teased herself. Maybe her fantasy man was making her breakfast. God, men who cooked were so very sexy.
A TV turned on somewhere, and the sound of the weatherman’s voice distracted her a bit. Still, she forced herself to ignore it and press on. She was close now, and she couldn’t wait any longer.
“Oh, fuck me,” she murmured as she finally gave in to her body’s demands. The first stab of pleasure took her over, the intensity of it enough to make her moan and shake.
And then there was a squeaking sound, like rusty metal in need of lubrication. Then footsteps, somewhere close. Wait, footsteps? Rhea opened her eyes at last.
There stood a man, watching her, shock and disbelief written all over his face. Without meaning it, she stared into his brown eyes as she came. This man was watching her, but she couldn’t just turn off an orgasm, and it felt so damn good that she didn’t want to, either.
She clamped her hand down over her mouth, even though she wanted to groan and swear and scream.
After this moment of bliss passed, it dawned on her that she wasn’t in her bed at home. In fact, she wasn’t even in her house.
The man, his face red and beads of sweat dripping from his brow, looked at her as if waiting for an explanation.
“Who are you, lady, and what the hell are you doing in my house?”
She wished she knew. Then it hit her – she’d been sleepwalking again. Mortified, she buried her face in her hands and prayed the man wouldn’t press charges for breaking and entering.
“I’m so sorry,” she told him. “It’s these insomnia pills I’m taking. Sometimes they make me sleepwalk, and then I end up in very strange places.”
His gaze fell to her underwear, which she’d thrown on the floor in her half-asleep stupor. As bad luck would have it, these ones were bright purple, with a strand of pink sequins wrapped around the waistband. They looked like something a porn star would wear. Rhea silently chastised herself for not wearing nicer panties to bed.
“So, let me get this straight.” He leaned against the wall and rubbed his temples as if staving off a headache. “You sleepwalk into other people’s homes, go to their bedroom, and then…”
She snatched up her panties and pulled them on. Thankfully, she still wore her nightgown. She’d be even more embarrassed if she’d taken it off somewhere.
“I don’t know how I got in here. Maybe you left the door unlocked.”
She stood and looked out the man’s bedroom window to figure out where she was. To her relief, there was her house just next door.
“That’s where I live,” she said, pointing to her home. “You know, this could have ended up way worse. Once, I got in my car and drove three towns over just to get a cheeseburger.”
He raised an eyebrow. “While you were asleep?”
She nodded and wondered why she was sharing this with him, a total stranger. After what she’d just done, she should have bolted out his front door and never looked back. But this man’s eyes showed a flicker of curiosity and interest in her plight, so she stayed.
It helped that the
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