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The sun was streaming in through the window, announcing it was morning. I lay on my bed, mostly on my back, naked, my legs splayed. My mind was somewhere between asleep and conscious.
He slipped into the room, then knelt at the foot of the bed. His hand reached up to my crotch area, toying with my pubic hair. He stroked it, pulled it slightly, his fingers running through it. I lay motionless. With his hands he spread my lips, his fingers slipping into my crevice. As they wandered around exploring, touching sensitive places, doing delicious things, I rolled a bit more to my back, spreading my legs to allow him better access. He stroked my most private parts. His finger pressed on my urethral opening, and he admonished me, “Don’t pee!” He massaged my private parts. Feelings of utter delight passed through me. I lay there, absorbing the stimulation.
The light became stronger. I glanced around, looking at the window, and at the clock. He was not there, of course. He never was. He was but a figment of my imagination, something between a fantasy and a dream. I closed my eyes and lay deep in my pillow, trying to return to that dream which had so penetrated my mind. For a moment it seemed to come back, as I seemed to feel that hand on me again; but, as quickly as I slipped back to it, the dream was gone. I almost longed for it to be real. Slightly awake now, I glanced at the clock, announcing that I must soon arise. My hand slipped to my lower region and I fingered myself for a minute, trying to draw back that delicious sensation. It didn’t work. It was time to get up.
Slowly, stretching a little, squirming a little, I drew myself from the bed. I had no nightclothes to shed, for I slept naked. Why did I do this, I thought to myself. Through the years of my marriage I rarely slept unclad, yet, now, with no one nearby to seduce, I had developed the habit of sleeping unclothed. I told myself it was precisely because there was no one else around, and so my appearance need not reflect modesty. Yet somehow I knew that in that state of nudity I felt a kind of erotic sensation, a feeling that I was just a little vulnerable, ready for something I could not really describe.
I crept from the bed, then turned to straighten the bedding. I headed for the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, looked at myself in the mirror and groomed myself for the day. It didn’t take long. I was never a great beauty, and used little makeup. I turned to the toilet, and started to seat myself. In my mind I heard my imaginary visitor utter his instruction, “Don’t pee!”. Before brushing my teeth, I had an urge to do just that, but it had subsided considerably. My bladder, not emptied since the previous evening, was rather full but not really uncomfortable. I decided not to urinate.
I dressed myself for the day, my work costume a rather simple skirt and blouse. I slipped on my shoes, flats, suitable for a rather informal office, then put on my bra and a half slip. I slipped on my blouse. I rummaged in my drawer for clean panties, then, a pair in my hand, hesitated. Maybe I would go without panties today – but I hesitated only a moment. I was not that adventuresome. I slipped them on, and wandered to my little kitchen for a quick breakfast of coffee and toast.
An hour or so later, I was at my work station, my large drawing board in front of me. I worked as a commercial artist, doing artwork for advertising, brochures, signs, an assortment of assignments that came my way. I prepared my work area, beginning a sketch I had left off the previous day. As I leaned forward, I noted the increasing discomfort in my belly. My bladder wanted its relief. I would make it wait.
A short time later, my boss summoned me to his office. A new assignment was to be explained to me. I listened, absorbing the instructions, yet increasingly distracted by my insistent natural needs. On the way back to my work station, I relented and stopped at the ladies room. Enough is enough, fun is fun, but now it’s time to work.
My working associates were a mix of men and women. My relations with the males around me were friendly, but not romantic. At forty six, divorced five years ago, I enjoyed the company of men, but was not sure I wanted another permanent attachment. My marriage had ended, my two children were grown, and I now lived alone. In the past few years I had dated on occasion, but nothing serious had ever emerged, and I spent my nights at my own place.
My work was fun for me, and at times I indulged myself in a bit of private art. I could draw passable portraits of people, and sometimes did so for friends. My own very private secret project was a book of sketches I had made and kept at home. They were all caricatures of men I had known or worked with. I drew them all as nudes. They weren‘t explicitly sexual, just my impressions of how some of them would look undressed. None were done from life, they were, like my early morning visitor, figments of my fertile imagination, and I kept them from the sight of others. Occasionally I would bets10 view them to myself, or draw a new sketch of someone I had met.
My ex and I had parted after twenty odd years, on terms that were not exactly pleasant. I had rarely seen him since, and now, with my children grown, there was rarely a need to communicate. I had my own life.
Yes, I missed the sex. It was the part of my marriage that had never gone sour. I could recall encounters that I loved – his body against mine, the vigorous, almost athletic matings. Particularly I liked the times I had been atop him, thrashing around, expressing and enjoying my own freedom, all the while imparting a special excitement to him. Such an encounter had produced one of the products of our union, who now had her own home, life, and mate – and, probably, her own style of erotic thrills..
But physical unions I had not sought, nor allowed myself. To engage in the a complete mating would require, for me, a kind of commitment for which I was not ready, nor was I sure I would it in another. So, I found gratification in my own little dreams cum fantasies, some forms of solo physical activity, and subtle bits of sexual innuendo or subdued but sometimes creative activities carefully shared with occasional male friends.
My boss told me one day I would be sent to a city several hundred miles away, to do some sketches for a real estate project for which a brochure was being prepared. I would spend about two days there, seeing the area and doing the groundwork for the artwork.
I liked the travel, and the chance to meet new friends. This one was especially nice, because it took me to a growing area which had a beach nearby. It was early summer, and I just might work in some beach time.
The trip was uneventful. I arrived at my destination, where I proceeded to my previously arranged hotel. I called the client from there, and made an appointment to meet with them.
A short time later, a man of forty something appeared. He was not especially good looking, just a guy in a business suit, perhaps mildly overweight, but friendly.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Kelly, I am Mark Hudson. You are here, I believe, to work up the artwork for our sales program. I hope your quarters are comfortable!”
I assured him they were. “I’m going to enjoy being here”, I assured him. “Where will we be going this afternoon? You don‘t need to be formal, I‘m just Karen – Karen Kelly. Friends call me KK.”
“I will drive you to the site, show you around a bit, and then we will go to my office and introduce you to the staff. It will probably be too late for much more today, so we will save the planning discussions for tomorrow, if that is OK with you.”
He took me a few miles to a large undeveloped land area, marked only with a few small signs and some surveyor’s flags.
“Right now”, he observed, “there is not a whole lot to see. But when we get started, this will change dramatically. Instead of wild grass and trees, there will be home sites, roads, a shopping center there, and space in the opposite direction for churches and community buildings. We think it has promise.”
“Not a lot I can do with this”, I replied. “Will you be showing me your plans or diagrams on how you envision it developing?”
“We have plans, and a few rough models. But the pictures are what you are here for. We will need an artists rendition of how different areas will look when finished. Hopefully, tomorrow, you may have time to rough up some ideas.”
He took me to the office, where I met several co-workers. We did little planning that day, as it was getting near closing time, so after our introductions, Mark indicated he would pick me up the next morning and bring me to the office by eight thirty.
Mark took me back to the hotel, depositing me at the door. “Will you be all right tonight?” he asked. “If there is anything you need, let me know. Otherwise, I will pick you up here at eight in the morning!”
“No, thank you, Mark, I will be fine. See you in the morning!”
The hotel was quite satisfactory. I had dinner in the restaurant, and retired to my third floor room to unpack and prepare myself for the night.
The room looked out over a business area, now quiet. Most of what I could see nearby were rooftops. I unpacked and took out my clothes for the next day.
In my suitcase I had placed a nightgown. It was one I rarely wore, but I packed in case I found myself in a situation where some kind of nightwear would be necessary. I glanced out the window, decided there was little danger of anyone looking in, and simply returned the nightgown to my suitcase. I would sleep nude.
I watched a bit of television, showered, and prepared for the morning. Unclad, I flopped on the bed and settled in for the night.
In my mind, I saw someone looking through that window. Of course, it would be a man, inspecting my body through that glass. Half hoping my fantasy would be repeated in a dream, I fell asleep.
The next morning, I was up early. This bets10 giriş was a work day, and there was no time for my clever erotic inventions. I dressed, went down for breakfast, and awaited my ride.
Mark arrived on time, and drove me to the office. We had a long day, as I was briefed on the various aspects of the planned development, and given descriptions and shown crude models. From time to time I attempted rough sketches to express my understanding, which were then critiqued by the client’s staff. The day was both long, and for me, exhausting. I had hoped that we might finish early enough for me to enjoy a beach excursion on my own, but it was not to be.
Near six o’clock, Mark drove me back to the hotel. As we rode, he talked a bit, almost apologetic.
“I fear I’ve been a poor host to you. We kept you so occupied all day we didn’t even have a chance to talk about any time to relax. I think you did say something about seeing some of our community’s attractions before you returned?”
“No apology needed, Mark. You’re not a host – you’re a client! I’m a working girl, and this was not supposed to be a fun trip. Yes, I had hoped to squeeze in at least a tour of the beach before I returned – but, if we can’t, I’ll just hope for another time!”
“Karen”, he continued, almost sorrowfully, “It really has been a pleasure to work with you. I hope we will have further opportunities. But, about that beach and the local attractions; I hope tomorrow will not be quite as long a day. As it’s your last, we just might finish up somewhat early. Are you leaving tomorrow night?”
“No, really, Mark, I will taking the flight back on the morning following. I have the evening free tomorrow – except for a little time to pack!”
He thought a minute. “I don’t mean to be too forward or intrude on anything personal, but, I would love to have you join me for dinner tomorrow after we finish talking shop. We might give you a tour of the area, perhaps even in the evening, if you’d be interested. Now, if you would prefer not to, I’ll certainly understand!”
I had no hesitation. Mark had been a good person to work with, and he was trying to be hospitable. “Mark, I’d love to. If you’re concerned, I’m not attached- I was married, but that’s been over for quite a while. I have enjoyed our little time together.”
“Karen, I’m not asking you to join me to talk shop. I think you are nice person to be with. I’m not attached, either; something of the same situation. Can we plan on it, then, after we finish up tomorrow?”
“Let’s do”, I assured him.
The next day, I dressed in my working attire, blouse and slacks. Mark picked me up in the morning. All day I was thinking of the evening and what it might bring. I had recently had few chances of male company for dinner and an evening, and I planed on getting his attention in subtle ways.
We had lunch at a place near his office. As we returned from the quite casual lunch, we entered the building in which his office was situated. Mark and several men headed for the men’s room as we came in, and I diverted myself to the ladies facility. After, we returned to the office.
I was with Mark and the others of the staff from lunch until we finished, a little after four. Mark indicated he would be taking me from the office, and made a stop in the men’s room preparatory to leaving. I told him I would wait for him, as I made my farewells to the others. . They probably assumed he would be dropping me at the hotel.
As we entered his car, he asked, “Karen, would you want me to take you to the hotel, first, or are you ready now?”
“Am I dressed all right, for whatever you have in mind?” I asked.
“You look great. If you’re OK, let’s just have a little drive around, before we stop for dinner!”
“Fine with me”, I noted.
Mark gave me a trip around the community, then drove toward the beach, knowing I had expressed in interest in seeing it. We drove on a beach front road, then found a place to stop and get out.
“Now, if you had time, we might let you go for a swim. Does it look inviting?”
I drew in deep breaths of the salt air. Taking him by the hand, I stepped on the beach sand.
“Not a place to walk in shoes”, I noted, observing that both of us had shoes more suited to offices than beaches. “It would be a place for a swim – if I had a suit!”
We spent a few minutes there. Then I asked him if the beach was as inviting in the evening. “After dinner, it might be fun for me to put my toes in the water – if you would join me!” I half teased him, expecting that he would refuse.
“In the evening it’s usually pretty quiet. And, that toes in the water deal sounds nice – just might like it. Shall we do it, for real?”
“I’m game”, I answered.
We returned to the car, and he drove to the restaurant he had selected. It wasn’t a particularly elegant place, but had tables and booths, and a menu that seemed to feature modest prices. I could see he was not using an expense account and was not out to impress bets10 güvenilir mi me.
“It’s not fancy, but the food is good. I eat here occasionally. Now, if it doesn’t seem to your taste, you just tell me – there are other places!”
He seemed my kind of guy. Simple, down to earth. “It looks fine, Mark. Let’s eat here!” I told him.
As we entered, Mark excused himself to use the restroom, and invited me to do the same. “I’ll just wait for you here, Mark; I’ll be looking over the menu!”
When he returned, we found a well lit booth, and sat down.
We made selections and ordered. I asked for a large soft drink to start, and when it arrived, I quickly began sipping it.
There was no mention of our business during dinner. We talked about ourselves, our backgrounds, our personal histories, where we had grown up. We attacked our food eagerly when it arrived, continuing our relaxed conversation. At one point, my drink glass was drained and I asked for another. Mark turned away from me to attempt to summon a waitress for the purpose.
While he was not watching, I took the opportunity to unfasten the top button of my blouse. My purpose was to display just a little cleavage, but I quickly saw that what was showing was not my cleavage, but my bra. It was not a sexy, lacy, bra; just a plain serviceable white cotton type.
When he turned back, I detected his glance to my neckline, indicating that he observed the adjustment. Perhaps he thought it was an accident.
“You’ve quite a thirst”, he noted.
“Maybe something to do with the climate, and maybe some of that beach air”. I countered.
We finished our dinner, and he took care of the check and tip. We prepared to leave. As we approached the door, he stopped at the rest room, asking me, “Need a stop before we leave?”
“No, thanks. I’m OK”, I answered him.
“You sure?” he asked. He was beginning to wonder about me. I had wondered how long it would take him to make that observation.
“Yes, OK. I’ll wait for you!”
When he came out, he went to his car. It was now dark. He politely opened my door, then entered himself.
“You must have quite an endurance!” he noted.
“How so?” I asked.
“Well, I have been with you since lunch. That was a long time ago. You haven’t made a stop in a ladies’ room since about one o’clock, and now it’s past eight! After drinking coffee all afternoon, and those two big sodas tonight! How do you do it?”
I had his attention. I had been waiting for him to make that observation.
“Isn’t that a rather personal question?” I asked, a bit of mischief in my voice.
“Maybe. But it just amazes me. Don’t you need to go?”
“Yes”, I answered, “I do.”
He waited for me to expand on the subject, but I didn’t.
After a short interval, he asked me, smiling just a bit, “Are you teasing me?”
“Yes”, I answered. I returned the smile.
Baffled, he waited for me to comment further. When I did not, he asked, “Karen, what game are you playing? Are you trying to see how long you can wait?”
“Not exactly”, I told him. “Now, you promised me a walk on the beach. Are we going?”
He started the car and began to drive.
It wasn’t far to the beach front drive. We rode along it, until we found a quiet spot where we could park the car. I was out the door first.
“Can we leave our shoes in the car?” I asked. “It would be a little less sandy that way, and I like the feel of the sand on my feet!”
Mark took his shoes and socks off, rolling up his pants legs. I took off mine, also rolling up my slacks. We locked our shoes in the car, and walked toward the water. A few yards from the shore line, we began to stroll together up the beach. It was dark, but warm, and there seemed to be no one else about.
“Now, Karen, are you going to tell me what your game of avoiding bathrooms is all about?”
“To get you to ask”, I told him, quite truthfully.
“You mean, you avoided going, just so I would notice and ask you why?”
“Doesn’t it – doesn’t it hurt? I’d think you would get uncomfortable!”
“Yes. I do. But I can manage it. I did get you to ask, didn’t I?”
“But Karen, it just isn’t natural. I don’t see how you do it-”
“Mark, are you doubting my bladder is full?”
He was all but blushing, embarrassed at my blunt observation. I stopped walking, took his hand in mine, placed it on my abdomen, and pressed it.
“Feel that? Full up, right?”
“Karen, what are you trying to do? Is this a come on?”
“No, Mark. And just so you know, I’ve no intention of either of us taking advantage of our situation to turn it into a bedroom encounter. That’s not going to happen, I’m not that kind of woman. But holding my bladder a little beyond the full point does make me feel a little, well, spicier than I might otherwise. I won’t turn that into a romp in the sheets, but, I do enjoy the kind of conversation it has sparked. Now, if you’d like me to just empty it and be completely normal–”
Mark shook his head. “Karen, I just don’t understand you, but you do sound like a fun lady to be with. Look, I’m not looking for a ‘romp in the sheets’, either, but you intrigue me. I never had a lady ask me to feel her bladder before!”
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