Monday, August 15, 2005

The Study

It is well past midnight, and I cannot sleep. I normally do not watch television, but tonight I saw a show that really disturbed me. It was one of those “whodoneit” shows, and the murder was rather grizzly. I stare at the ceiling for several minutes, all I can hear is my husband sawing logs beside me, and I realize that my nightie is missing. It is not near the head of the bed, nor can I see it on the floor. I suppose that I have kicked it under the covers, as there is a lump near my feet, but I dare not retrieve it – for fear that I will wake my husband.

I slowly get out of bed and look for my slippers beside the bed, but I cannot find them. I do not pursue the slippers, now wondering where I placed my mind this evening, and slink down the hall. I approach the kitchen, knowing I really want to go towards the computer in the study. I take a glass from the cupboard, fill it with ice and then pour some bottled water over the cubes, listening to them crackle. I take the rest of the liter bottle of Perrier, the glass of water and myself, and I quietly make my way to the study.

Passing the laundry room on the way to the study, I peek in to see what clothes are clean, wanting to put something on my top. No clean clothes at all, but there is a pile of clothes needing to be washed. My husband’s dress shirt is on top – so I sniff it, and finding that it smells clean, slip it on.

I finally arrive at my destination, the study, and turn the computer on. The screen quickly comes to life, and I take several sips of water, watching the computer go through its initialization sequence. Then I click on the Internet Explorer button, and I hear the modem kick into action. I take a few more sips, and find the glass empty. I must have been thirsty.

I re-fill the glass, this time not hearing much out of the ice – not a crackle, not a pop. I take another sip or two as the home page loads. I type in the address for my online mail account, the account my husband does not know about, and the page slowly loads. Another couple of sips of water, and I smile when I see that I have received some mail. I click on the in-box, and finish the second glass as the page is loading. Sometimes I think we should get a cable modem, but I am against it for two reasons – I enjoy the anticipation, and if I could download files faster, I am afraid I would spend all of my time looking for pornography. All I really need is my pen pals and a couple of really good pictures, and I am all set for some, as my favorite on-line pal puts it, “wanking.”

He has written me a very nice note, concerned that I have not had much time for “wanking” and hoping that I will be able to self-satisfy me soon. Like him, when I travel for work, I am able to spend some time in the room, and they always turn into late night sessions. At the end, I am satiated but sore, tired but content.

In some of his notes, he places pictures that usually accompany the subject on which he writes. I read his letter further, and he describes, in this passage, a particular episode at the beginning of his sexual exploits. I sometimes wonder how he is as a lover – actually I often wonder.

The pictures that accompany the note this time are of young men, all touching themselves and in the height of pleasure. As he often does, he includes a couple of pictures that are meant to be me, young brunettes, usually with nice, full pubic regions, that either are satiated with cum in their vaginas, on their bums, or on their chests. And, as normal, it begins to turn me on.

I take another drink, only to have the ice rush forward and hit my nose – I was so intent on his note that I failed to notice that I was again out of water. Another refill, and another sip or two. Oh, how his note reaches my core.

I press the reply button and then describe to him how his note and pictures make me feel. I stop, on occasion, to ponder my words. Sometimes I think we are having a heated affair, but I know he is half-way around the world in his own place, with his wife, his practice, and his hobbies. As I sign the note “NBV,” for a little name he gave me, my heart is almost racing. I look at the clock, and I cannot believe that an hour has gone by. My bladder is now full from the water, and I hit the send button. I briefly look at the other notes and do not find anything of interest, so I decide that I will wank for my virtual lover on the guest bathroom toilet before going to bed. As I gather the empty glass and bottle, I notice there is but an inch of water in the bottle. Not wanting to put it back in the fridge, I drain the rest of the bottle on the way to the kitchen.

I place the bottle in the recyclables, the glass in the sink, and I am off to the bathroom for my early morning wank. I get to the bathroom, and I am about to “go”, but then I have an idea. I take off my husband’s shirt, and fold it neatly on the vanity. Then I straddle the toilet, facing the wall. I have wanked in this position before – but instead of walking out of my panties and wanking, I take a deep breath.

Then I begin to pee on the toilet, the pee soaking my crotch area and dripping into the toilet. Since I have had so much water, I continue to pee, and the stream is even stronger after the initial shock and feeling of wetting my panties. The fluid begins to creep up the panties a bit, and then I feel some urine running down my legs and onto the floor. Not a lot, but it is uncomfortable. After finishing, I sit still for a moment, listening to urine that had soaked my panties drip into the toilet.

Suddenly, I feel dirty. I remember my friend talking about “pissing in panties” when his wife was out of town, and I wonder if his experience was similar. My guess is that he is more expert at this than I, and he took precautions to make things easier. Still thinking of my friend, I remember that I was not finished. I reached my hand into the front of my panties, and I touched myself in my sweet spot. I continued to touch myself, and within minutes, I was cuming on my fingers. It was fast and intense, and it took me completely by surprise.

I smelled my fingers, and they smelled of my vagina and of urine. I wanted to lick them, to taste me like I had done on so many other occasions, but the thought of the urine prevented me from doing so. I later learned that the urine was probably safer to taste than any cum I had swallowed from any guy I had previously serviced.

I wrung out my panties over the toilet, and more urine made its way into the bowl. Then I took a washcloth and wiped myself off – and I nearly came again, probably would have, but I heard something, and thought it might have been my husband. I cleaned up the floor with the washcloth and a towel, making a note to clean the bathroom in the morning. I went to the laundry room, and I put the panties, the towel and washcloth and my husband’s shirt back in the dirty clothes. Then, because of the unusually strong fragrance, I started the wash, knowing that I would have to lie to my husband the next morning – saying that I forgot I had put a load in before I went to bed.

I made my way back to the bedroom and slipped under the covers, completely nude. I could not risk waking my husband up at night. In the morning, when the alarm went off, I surprised my husband with a “good morning fuck,” the only way I knew to throw him off the fact that I went to sleep clothed and woke up nude. I do not think he thought anything of it, especially since I did not ask for him to eat me – he quickly took me from behind before, came rather quickly, and then headed into the shower. I started the dryer after he was in the shower, and I was tempted to log onto the computer again – but thought better of it.

My shower followed his, and a few minutes after putting on a fresh pair of panties, his cum leaked out of me, wetting my panties. For a moment, I flashed back to the previous night, a little excited, and a little embarrassed.


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