She knew that it wouldn't be moist for long. Soon, she knew, she would be soaking wet down there between her milky white thighs. She could feel her clitoris growing.
The center of her warped womanly desire was filling with blood and approaching engorgement along with the rest of her pussy's tissues.
She could feel her nipples getting harder and larger. She could hear her breaths getting shorter and closer together. She could feel the pace of her heartbeat quicken.
She arched her fingers so that her long red fingernails would not get in the way and began to stroke her nipples with the fleshy parts of her fingertips.
She shivered and moaned a little. There were two sets of walls between her private bath and the rest of the house – so she did not have to worry about anyone hearing her moans and groans of physical pleasure. She tried to get outside of herself – so that she would not have to feel guilt and disgust over her own enjoyment.
Annabelle would have denied that she even had a pussy if she had been asked the question point blank. She rubbed her nipples as lightly as she could at first but her stroke became firmer as she proceeded.
Annabelle got each of her nipples in between her thumbs and forefingers and pinched them lightly. She could feel little liquid fingers of feminine enjoyment rolling gracefully up and down the entire length of her backbone.
Annabelle could feel the little golden hairs at the nape of her white neck standing on end. She lightly tugged her nipples. She could feel them getting larger and harder against her sensitized fingertips. Annabelle pulled her nipples until the skin all around those pink feminine erections was stretched taut – and both of her breasts looked a good deal pointier than usual.
Annabelle could feel her pink clitoris pushing out from under the fleshy sheath that usually all but covered it. She could feel her clit becoming as erect as her nipples.
Her love button was pushing her clitoral foreskin up and out of the way. She knew that it would not be long before her clit felt as if it were going to come popping right out of her pussy. She could feel her natural lubrication starting to pool thickly and hotly at the base of her pink poontang slash, in between her curled back inner cunt lips, right at the mouth of her seldom-used fuck hole. She could feel the pressure growing in her femininely sloped loins. She could feel a heat on the insides of her thighs – and she could tell the skin their was flushing a bright red with her horniness. She tried to make her mind go blank. Each rational – rational for her, that is, thought stifled her pleasure rather than enhanced it.
She was a woman without dreams.
She had no fantasy.
She could tell that it would not be long before her natural lubrication began to spill out of her pussy down into the crack of her ass, just like sweet nectar dripping from a split in the fuzzy skin of a ripe peach.
She could feel the pink tissues between her parted thighs starting to crawl around as if they had all developed minds of their own.
She released her pinching and pulling grip on her nipples and opened her hands so that she could squeeze her own tits. She placed her hands over her breasts so that the nipples were throbbing precisely against the centers of her stretched and slightly cupped palms. She pressed the fleshy part of her fingertips into her tits hard enough to make that tit flesh pucker a bit.
She threw back her head.
Her eyes closed.
Her mouth fell open.
Her tongue flicked outward.
Annabelle began to move her tits in slow sensuous circles. Her head pushed back further and further toward the wall. It so happened that right behind the beautiful but icy cold woman's head was a ventilation pipe that ran up and down the entire height of the house – all the way from the top floor to the basement.
Annabelle thought she could hear something – voices of something – coming from that ventilation pipe – but she couldn't be sure. She was not curious enough to stop and press her ear against the pipe. Her mind was on other things.
Annabelle pushed her tits upward and then downward. She pulled her tits apart and then pressed them together snugly. She pressed her tits together so snugly – as a matter of fact – that they were flattened on their insides and the cleavage between them became extraordinarily long and deep. This self-caress to her tits was only making the ache between her legs that much worse. She released her grip on her tits and ran the tips of her fingers down the flat plain of her belly. She traced the tip of her right forefinger nail all around her dimpled and concave bellybutton. She then – feeling experimentative – dipped that fingernail right into her bellybutton, and she discovered that this felt a hell of a lot better than she thought it was going to.
She stroked her lower belly – and then her abdomen. She tugged lightly at her blonde pubies with her fingers. Her pubic hair grew neatly on her mound.
Annabelle's hair grew in a perfect inverted triangle – a triangle that looked like an arrow indicating the location of her clitoral foreskin.
Anyone who looked at that trim blonde hair would have thought that she surely cropped it to keep it that way, or that she shaves her inner thighs or something. The beautiful blonde person was the only one in the world who knew that that was the way her golden pubic hair grew naturally.
She had an urge to start touching her pussy right then and there – but she stifled this urge. Instead she began to stroke the insides of her thighs – which were parted by this time to a perfect ninety-degree angle.
She placed the tips of her long red fingernails on the insides of her thighs close to her bent knees. She drew her nails – both hands at the same time – toward her crotch.
She scratched herself lightly.
She didn't stop until the tips of her nails were less than an inch away from the sides of her vulva. She then repeated the caress. She lifted her feet from the floor and placed her toes on the front of the toilet. She leaned back, her head now closer to that ventilation pipe. Again she thought she heard something coming from that pipe, a scream or something, but she paid no attention. Either it was her imagination or maybe a little steam or something. Who would be screaming in her house?
She stroked her inner thighs until she could feel her cunt juices dripping over the inch-long patch of mucous membrane in between her pink asterisk of an asshole and the base of her thoroughly engorged cunt.
She couldn't take it anymore. She had teased herself long enough. She opened her legs even further. She scratched the cheeks of her ass. She opened her ass cheeks with her left hand and ran the tip of her right forefinger up and down the crack of her ass. She found that her asshole was very hypersensitive and erogenous, but even in her aroused state of mind she could not bring herself to touch that dirty spot for very long.
She could tell that the crack of her ass was all wet and slippery with the juices that had dribbled from her quim. She ran the tip of her finger up and down the outermost parts of her vulva. She caressed her fat, swollen outer cunt lips all the way from the base to the top of her pussy. She came very close to her clit without making direct contact with it.
She touched at the sides of her clit and just above the love button, at the clitoral foreskin, but she did not touch the little man in the boat itself.
She wanted to save the focal point of her womanly desire for last. She was going to explore each nook and crannie of her cunt before touching the magic and fiery bulb at the very top of her oozing cooze.
She worked her finger in between her inner and outer cunt lips. She then rubbed ever-so-gingerly at the curled back outer edges of her inner labia.
She worked her finger in between her inner cunt lips and touched the little hole where she made pee-pee. If asked she would have denied ever having to shit or piss. She was a lady of the top drawer variety. If she did shit she wanted everyone to believe that her turds came out smelling like powder puffs.