Deep Thought

I sit in the corner of my most distant pub. It’s delightfully busy (which it wasn’t before I bought it) and yet, to me, there’s only one person in the building. Ashleigh. 20, tall, blonde, blue eyed, and perfectly proportioned. She’s actually quite shy, and it took her a few weeks before she could even talk to a customer. I have absolutely no doubt whatsoever that no-one, male or female, has ever touched her. No, I have no proof, but just knowing her, I am led inexorably to that conclusion. 

I have a laptop open in front of me, and that allows me to seem as if I’m staring at the screen, but I finished my work a half an hour ago. Now, I’m using it as a shield to gaze at Ashleigh. 

My brain, well tuned as it is, notices everything. The lines of Ashleigh’s panties and bra, for example. It is easy for me to simply mentally remove her dress. This, in my mind, leaves her in black bra and panties. Oh, but no lace here. Simple cotton undies. Yes, that’s Ashleigh. One day in November, I was here when she was being taught how to change a barrel in the cellar. She didn’t hit the tap hard enough and got soaked with beer. I remembered her diving into the laundry room to change her uniform, and she had emerged, clean and dry, but bra-less. While many girls carry a spare pair of panties around, few if any have a spare bra in their bag. That afternoon showed me the perfection of her boobs. And so, mentally removing her bra was easy too. 

Ashleigh, with that sixth sense all girls seem to have, realized or rather just felt someone was staring at her and looked around. Her gaze flickered on me and with it came a smile. She looked around for a moment then went back to her work. Almost busted. 

I began to wonder about the private Ashleigh. The Ashleigh in the bath or shower. The Ashleigh in bed at night. The naked Ashleigh in the act of dressing and undressing, and of course, the Ashleigh of the sexy feelings. 

From there it was a short step to imagine her, hand in her panties rubbing one out silently. And from there, imagining her standing naked in the shower, leaning against the wall, a hand between her legs and the other covering her mouth. Yes, I had no doubt, Ashleigh was a silent masturbatory. 

The wetness pooled in my panties as I imagined just watching her. Nothing more. Just watching her body as she neared climax. Oh Ashleigh….you must look amazing. My clit pulsates at the thought. Her clit, pink and hard, protruding from its hood, her own wetness on her panties. A deep pulse undulated through my vagina bringing with it a gout of wetness. I knew exactly how she would smell. Light, flower as a summer meadow, with a tang of musk. Creamy….virgins tend to be creamy. I could imagine her hymen visible beyond her labia. Ashleigh…lying on her bed, her legs spread and knees high, holding herself open. And me, watching the moist pinkness within her and her vulva contracting as she orgasms. 

And just like that, with no touching, not even any squeezing, I came in my panties. A long, protracted orgasm filled with images of Ashleigh.