Lara didn’t mean to think of the Herb Bride in her yard. It felt disrespectful somehow. She was simply following one of her dances, doing whatever work had to be done as Lara pulled some water from the pump. Besides, there was nothing special about her. She was like any of the other Brides she’d seen: tattered dress, painted face, breasts exposed, heavy and beautiful, to the morning air… Lara shakes her head, tries to clear her thoughts. There isn’t enough time for this. She sets about cleaning, but that doesn’t erase the memory of the brides captivating movements. The thought torments her throughout the day: the gentle curve of her side into her hip down her smooth thigh evoked by the handle of her iron, the bright expression in her dark eyes reflected in the freshly polished black of her dress shoes. She sits on the edge of her bed, squeezing her thighs together and her eyes shut. There is an insistent ache in her cunt now and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it made itself known. Her heart is beating quickly in her chest hard enough that she can feel it in between her legs. She sighs, frustrated. At the very least, she won’t be able to sleep with her body on edge like this. She stands and locks her bedroom door. Even after all this time living alone, she’s still irrationally afraid that someone will walk in on her. Carefully, she undresses, and she can’t help but imagine the Bride’s fingers undoing the buttons on her shirt. When she’s naked, she lies back on the covers. While one hand teases her breast, the other slips between her legs. She feels a twinge of embarrassment when she feels how wet she already is. Her fingers trace through her slick folds. The image of the Herb Bride is a vivid imprint on the back of her eyelids. Her fluid movements, the tranquil expression on her face, smooth skin. How would it feel under her hands, under her lips? She circles her clit. A sigh slips out of her. There was so little of the Bride’s body left to the imagination, but what is covered is a pressing mystery. Lara wants to pull her skirt down over her full hips. She wants to touch her, wants to kiss between her legs. She imagines inviting her inside her home, taking her hand and leading her to bed. Or the Bride pressing her into the tall grass behind her home and their moans would mingle with the voice of the Gorkhon. The heat is building in her core and soon, her fingers don’t feel like enough. She grabs a pillow and shoves it between her legs, desperately grinding against it. The friction of the pillow is amazing and it makes her nearly wild. Later, she might be embarrassed by how enthusiastic she is, but for now, she’s too far gone to care. In her mind, the Herb Bride is at her back, cupping her breast, kissing her neck, rubbing her off with those beautiful fingers. Lara comes with a cry, doubling over on herself. She pants for a while as she comes down, feeling heavy and satisfied, then peels herself off of the pillows and starts to dress. That was…certainly something.
Re: Lara solo time :o FILL
Lara shakes her head, tries to clear her thoughts. There isn’t enough time for this. She sets about cleaning, but that doesn’t erase the memory of the brides captivating movements. The thought torments her throughout the day: the gentle curve of her side into her hip down her smooth thigh evoked by the handle of her iron, the bright expression in her dark eyes reflected in the freshly polished black of her dress shoes.
She sits on the edge of her bed, squeezing her thighs together and her eyes shut. There is an insistent ache in her cunt now and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it made itself known. Her heart is beating quickly in her chest hard enough that she can feel it in between her legs.
She sighs, frustrated. At the very least, she won’t be able to sleep with her body on edge like this. She stands and locks her bedroom door. Even after all this time living alone, she’s still irrationally afraid that someone will walk in on her. Carefully, she undresses, and she can’t help but imagine the Bride’s fingers undoing the buttons on her shirt.
When she’s naked, she lies back on the covers. While one hand teases her breast, the other slips between her legs. She feels a twinge of embarrassment when she feels how wet she already is. Her fingers trace through her slick folds.
The image of the Herb Bride is a vivid imprint on the back of her eyelids. Her fluid movements, the tranquil expression on her face, smooth skin. How would it feel under her hands, under her lips?
She circles her clit. A sigh slips out of her. There was so little of the Bride’s body left to the imagination, but what is covered is a pressing mystery. Lara wants to pull her skirt down over her full hips. She wants to touch her, wants to kiss between her legs. She imagines inviting her inside her home, taking her hand and leading her to bed. Or the Bride pressing her into the tall grass behind her home and their moans would mingle with the voice of the Gorkhon.
The heat is building in her core and soon, her fingers don’t feel like enough. She grabs a pillow and shoves it between her legs, desperately grinding against it. The friction of the pillow is amazing and it makes her nearly wild. Later, she might be embarrassed by how enthusiastic she is, but for now, she’s too far gone to care. In her mind, the Herb Bride is at her back, cupping her breast, kissing her neck, rubbing her off with those beautiful fingers.
Lara comes with a cry, doubling over on herself. She pants for a while as she comes down, feeling heavy and satisfied, then peels herself off of the pillows and starts to dress. That was…certainly something.