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From: Mary Westbourne <mwestbourne@hotmail.com>
Subject: (ASS) In The Mirror - Mary Westbourne
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This story was definitely written with an over-18 level of adult content
- if you're under 18, go away.
If you're over 18, read, enjoy, and please make any constructive
comments to mwestbourne@hotmail.com.
In the Mirror
by Mary Westbourne.
The light glows, and I look at myself. For the first time in a long
while, the sight in front of me is welcome, appreciated, loved by me for
what it is.
So what has changed in the last four months? Little physically - a
slight lift to the buttocks, a lift to the chin, a sparkle to the eyes…
("Your breasts have changed - they're firmer." "It must be all the
attention you're giving them." "Some more, then?")
The legs may have become slightly slimmer. He wraps them around him in
ways I didn't think this body could do any more.
(We twist, turn, roll over still embedded and continue our delving.
"You're more flexible than she was." "I'll pay for it in the morning,
though." "Shall I stop then?" "Don't you dare…")
Thighs on me are rounded, soft, a woman's thighs with curves and warmth.
The skin is a white expanse, kept from the sun in this harsh land. I
feel no need to hide these, or make apologies for their seismic waves as
they undulate under his body.
(He tightens the knots, my thighs and calves bound, apart. "How does
that feel?" The air skulks in, unexpectedly cooling my damp nether lips.
I sigh.)
My bottom is ample, a covering for muscles relearning their strength.
Its domes quiver, speaking in secret signals of hidden delights
concealed therein.
("It's bright red - amazing what a palm can do." "I'm not sure I really
like this." "But you haven't told me to quit." "I don't think I want you
to." "Should I stop?" …silence… "Very well." *slap*)
The area between the hips softly invites exploration, examination,
analysis and continuing research. Natural hair points down, an
indication of possible direction, an invitation to continue the journey.
I run my hands over the sides of my hips, buttocks and thighs, and
marvel at the sensations echoing between my legs.
("What's that?" "Guess - and no looking." "So soft - a feather? It's
driving me mad!" "Suffer!")
My stomach is convex, yielding, dimpled with a navel that designates the
narrow point. My hands at the sides press in, reminiscent of corsetting.
("What do you mean, your sides are sensitive?" "It's your fault all the
soft and tender places have started to react - you're so gentle with
them." "Great - now you'll be telling me your forearms have become
erogenous zones too." "Well, as a matter of fact…" "Oh God - I'm
doomed." "Yeah, but you don’t seem to be running at all." "Maybe I don't
want to.")
I run my hands over my breasts, thrilling at the tingles from the
slightly-bruised nipples. With my little finger I lift their mass and
absorb their warmth. The stretch marks show slightly in this lights, and
the dark brown tips stand erect, waiting for more.
("How long since you stopped breast-feeding?" "Over five years. But I
can still get a little out - I think you've stimulated them back into
production." "I've noticed.")
A love-bite shows dark and ominous at the shadow of the jaw. My neck
seems longer, as I hold my head high and proud. My hair hangs behind,
hip length and longer, tousled witness to tangible pleasures.
("Hold this." "But then my head's pulled back - I can't see down!"
"That's the whole idea.")
I look in my eyes, and I gaze at a woman with a calmness and contentment
beyond words. The door opens and he's there behind me, concerned.
"Are you all right?" Fingering the bruise on my neck. "I was worried I
might have done something to you."
"Oh, but you have." I turn and kiss him. "More than you think."
* - *
(Dedicated to my wild man, with thanks and love.)
A true story from Mary Westbourne - mwestbourne@hotmail.com
Copyrighted to Mary Westbourne - feel free to copy this and repost, but
only with in full with my name and address above. Thanks.
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