She speaks to me when I least expect it. She, that is, the beast within me, that uncoils herself and bewitches my mind and ensares my senses and makes me utterly hers, awakens from her slumber and her arousal becomes mine.
I feel her, like a physical presence. My breathing deepens, my nostrils flare and I become aware of my body in an almost existential way. My breathing becomes sharp, almost painful as the air enters my body and fills my lungs. Each breath making my breasts press more firmly against my clothes, while down in the secrecy of my sex, I feel the need for exposure; to spread myself, to be seen and want to be seen.
My legs part involuntarily, pressing against the unforgiving hardness of the car door and the centre console. My hand, again of its own volition, moves from the gear shift to tug impatiently at my skirt.
My breathing is deep now, and oh, how it matches the relentless throbbing between my legs! I glance down, and inhale. My panties are visibly wet, and I am able to smell my own arousal.
Deep within, She purrs her approval and wraps her scaly body around mine and begins to squeeze. She is needy tonight; urgent; impatient to be sated. Yet I can't touch myself here. Not now. She bares her teeth at my audacity and punishes me by a flood of wetness into my already sodden panties. Ah, but if she could only speak, what abuse she would hurl at me for daring to deny her.
I turn off my route home and drive to the beach. Is there any more miserable sight than a seaside resort in autumn? It is grey. The greyness of the skies and sea in mocking contrast to the colours of the beach huts. I park and hold the wheel firmly. I am almost panting now. Pushing the seat back, I lift my skirt up around my waist and the car fills with my scent. A few girls are walking home from school, but to me, they may as well not exist. For now, I am HERS. I am her slave and must obey.
I press the wet material into my vagina. It hurts me to do this, but it is the penalty I must pay for daring to refuse HER. The seam of my panties cuts between the pouting lips and cuts hard against my clitoris. SHE purrs.
I tug my jumper over my shoulders and head and sit in my car naked from the waist up. I don't care if I am seen. If I am, it will be according to HER will. A girl looks over and her eyes widen. For a moment, I lock eyes with her and then I close mine. Is she still looking? I have no idea as my fingers pinch my nipple bar, and my other hand descends into the waistband of my panties. My eyes open part way. She is still looking, but as my eyes lock with hers again, she flushes and turns away.
Now, my fingers have found my clitoris and have begun the symphony of touch that they know so well. I regret the extra coffee this afternoon, and know I should really have gone home. SHE cares not for my discomfort. My fingers increase their tempo and urgency, and my orgasm, like a sprouting seedling begins to take shape deep inside me. For a second, SHE detaches me from myself. In a moment of absolute clarity, I know my orgasm will lead me to lose control of myself. As soon as the thought forms, SHE plunges me back into myself and, like a tidal wave, the orgasm tears my world apart.
Is it minutes later, or hours? I know not. It is dark now, and I sit in a pool of wetness that has soaked my skirt and panties through. The car smells of sex, and, starting the engine, still topless, I drive home.
My husband is there, waiting for me. When I leave the car, I do not bother to dress and he knows, as he always knows, what I have done. He looks at my naked breasts, the wetness running down my legs as I walk up the drive to the front of the house.
He walks toward me, unbuckling his belt.
In turn, I sink to all fours, my back to him.
And I wait.