Michelle smiled as she brushed her hair before rolling and twisting the red locks into a loose bun, which she secured with a few pins to the top of her head. She stepped into the water, disturbing the oily surface as well as a few flower petals that her husband had sprinkled moments before she'd walked in the front door. "What a romantic," she whispered as she pressed her back against the tub's warmed marble surface. She closed her eyes, and forced her mind to respond to her current surroundings, not the hours she'd put in at work dealing with unsatisfied customers and hostile co-workers. As she relaxed the sound of Phil Collin's haunting voice drifting through the house speakers. A smile formed on her lips because she knew how much her husband despised the soulful voice and the melodies of a forgotten age. Though he was in his fifties, he embraced the loud music of a generation many years younger than he. "Oh he's going all out," she thought before sliding deeper into the water and. Words that are a quick shot of cum onto your tits, and a moist finger slipped in my mouth after you slip it into your hot and wet cunt. I touch myself. It is dark. I am alone. I think about words. Bitch. Fuck. Cum. Blow job . Words that we don't use in polite speech. I think about words. Small tits but sensitive nipples. Wet pussy. Hard cock. Pearl necklace. Jacking off. Fingering. Pinching your hard rosebuds atop your tits. Stroking my cock in front of your face. Sticking my tongue between the folds of your wet lips. Clitoral sucking. A finger up your ass. But not words of love and romance. No flowers. No dinners by candlelight. I touch myself. It is dark. I am alone. Now I am hard. I feel the first drops emerging from my tip, and my hand slides both along the smooth skin and with the slick lubricant I am producing. My hand slides along the smooth skin, but slowly and quietly. I have to be careful. There is a door. But it is only a door. Doors are meant to be opened. They can open.
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