Chapter 49: Chapter 49
It’s Friday night. Exhausted from her workweek,
Glenda intends to enjoy a completely lazy evening alone.
She’s a little horny, frankly. But she doesn’t even want to lift a finger to gratify herself. It’s too much effort. All she wants is a peaceful night.
No, she tells herself once again, as she studiously ignores the clinging caress of her underwear, she isn’t going to lift a finger to spread her lower lips—to stim- ulate those patient nerves or exercise those dormant muscles. She’s simply not going to bother. Not tonight.
She’s restless down there in her knickers, though, she can’t deny it. She’s watching TV, but her pussy’s itch for attention keeps getting her attention, through a game show and another…until, almost involuntarily, her hand
drifts lazily between her legs, while she watches a sitcom and tries to focus on her glass of wine.
And now that her hand has somehow made it to her pussy, her precious inertia favors keeping it there. So she lets her fingers lie comfortably upon her panties, but she vows to disregard the tiny throb of her clit against the inert heel of her hand.
The subtle grinding motion of her hips, under the cozy flannel throw, is relaxing at first. It isn’t anything she’s planned on: it has simply begun to happen while she’s been zoning out on the couch, her hand in her crotch.
Soon, though, the pivoting of her hips has taken on an urgency that starts to distract her from her program— and from her resolve to be passive. She answers the peti- tioning of her hips with soft, yet indisputably deliberate, strokes to her pussy. Then, before she knows it, a lone finger is exploring the edge of her gusset and the tender, moistening flesh beyond.
As the next sitcom rolls, Glenda is thoroughly luxu- riating under her sofa throw, unabashedly savoring the horniness she’d earlier shrugged aside. She spreads her legs wide to let her heated pussy radiate, displaying herself to the tight, complicit audience of cotton blanket. Then she slams her thighs closed again, to let her diamond- hard clit tingle where she squeezes herself together. She repeats these maneuvers, over and over, until she’s ready to burn straight down through the sofa.
Long before her last television program concludes,
LIFT A FINGER 43
Glenda finds herself parading around her living room, her fingers frantically busy inside her underwear. She diddles herself over to the table, then back toward an armchair. She returns to the sofa and pauses there, putting one leg up on the cushions to finger herself deeper.
She ruts herself against the cheeky corner of another couch—then briskly moves away in a lewd waddle, her palm cupped over her clit, rubbing hard. The TV audio babbles irrelevantly under her moans.
She can’t make up her mind where to have her climax, and so she simply wanders, an itinerant living- room masturbator, until the inevitable overtakes her in the middle of the floor.
There she sinks into a knee bend and howls to the ceiling, as a hot wave of undiluted release boils through her frame. Her lifted fingers stretch her pussy open like raw daybreak and twist her clit into fire.