Her eyes closed as she curled silk-clad limbs beneath her and rested fingertips against the keys. Drawing a slow breath, she lifted dark lashes and looked to the blank screen. She had no idea why he insisted that she write out a fantasy for him. She could think of many possible reasons, but he hadn't told her which it was. She knew that it could be used either for or against her and was hesitant to open up enough to give him that power at all.
Drawing her hands back from the keyboard, she reached instead for the television remote. Turning the channel, she flipped through until finding something worth listening to. With a low groan, she returned her gaze to the computer screen that seemed to be staring back at her. What does he want from me in this? Is he wanting me to suggest something I want him to do to me? Maybe he really does just want a fantasy, something so out there that I would never truly want it to happen but get wet thinking about and reading.
She started typing out a setting, the room, the mood, music, lighting. None of the things that really mattered to her, but a start on a story, at least. She paused again, then realized part of what the problem was. She simply wasn't in the mood at all. Looking to the time, she checked to see how long it would be before he got home from work. Catching her lower lip into a nibble of teeth, she contemplated before giving in. A hand sliding down between her thighs, she looked once more to the clock to make sure she hadn't miscalculated, then let a single finger glide over her pussy. Barely parting her lips, she teased herself until her finger grew wet.
It wasn't allowed, she knew that. She was frustrated with him, with this assignment and justified it in her mind by saying that she was only trying to get her juices, creative and then some, flowing so that she could fulfill his request.
The keyboard forgotten in the moment, she leaned back in the chair, her hips lifting into the more insistent caress of her hand. Her head tipped back, she caught herself just as her orgasm threatened. Jerking her hand away, her breaths panted, she sat there, trembling and looking back to the computer. Well, if she hadn't been before, she was certainly in the mood then.
Waiting until she caught her breath, she got to her feet and left the computer room to wander down the hall. In the bathroom, she washed the scent from her hand and put a cool cloth to her face to calm the flush. Looking to her reflection, she had a quick twinge of guilt that she stamped down. He's the one who insisted I write this story.. I just got myself in the mood. I didn't cum.
Returning to the computer, she flopped down in the chair which would surely have earned a reprimand had he been there to watch. She was angry with him and simply didn't care in that moment. Putting her fingers back to the keys, she squirmed in her seat, trying to scratch the itch that she had initiated.
A slow grin formed as she fought the urge to play rather than type. Deleting everything she had started to write, she began again. This time, she wrote about being forced to cum over and again, forced to masturbate until her arms were limp. She included as much detail as she could come up with, throwing in heated adjectives that she was sure would stir him into at least taking her even if he didn't follow the actual scene she'd written.
Caught up in her writing, she thought of nothing more than just how to convince him that she should be having an orgasm the moment he finished reading. There was no thought given to if he may like it but for how it would benefit her if he did.
Nearly a half hour later, she hit the save button and leaned back once more in the chair, this time with a satisfied grin.
Leaving that open on the computer so he could read it as soon as he got home, she all but sprinted back down to the bathroom. Skidding to a halt, her feet sliding across the tiled floor, she went back and grabbed the phone. Checking her tone and delivery, she called and requested his permission to undress and shower. Once that was given, she hurried back into the bathroom and slid out of her stockings.
The shower quickly steaming around her, she stepped in and washed, making sure to use one of his favorite scented soaps and shaving until not a hint of stubble remained. Drying off, she checked once more, as much because she was still needy as before and it was yet another excuse to touch herself.
Back out, she went to wait for his arrival. Watching the clock, she saw that she didn't have much longer to wait. Tick went a minute, tock another closer. Her grin faded as the time crept by, a knot forming in her stomach as her mind wandered back over the time since she'd begun to try writing. That knot tightened into a stone that set heavy inside of her as she replayed the story in her mind.
Only a few minutes left before he would be walking in the door. She didn't have time to delete and rewrite it if she tried. She had already deleted once, but that had only been a vague introduction, not a complete story. She wasn't supposed to delete.
She felt like she was literally caught between a rock and a hard place as she realized just what it was she'd done. Her eyes filling with tears as she looked to the door, easing around to all fours. Creeping nearer to that entryway that he would soon be stepping through, she didn't try, this time, to fight her guilt. She had done far too much to try and get away with it, knew she wouldn't be able to hide it from him. Anger, frustration, both had gotten the best of her but neither were present by the time that door opened.
Lifting a tear streaked face to him, she cowered as he looked down to her. It wasn't fear that brought her lower, it was shame, guilt and the knowledge that she was about to confess all.
