She slipped a finger inside her, pushing it deeper and deeper, wanting it deeper still but unable to because of her clothes. She slid her other hand under her first, and extended her fingers, gently pushing through her hair, her fingers eager to reach her clit, further until they brushed against her sensitive button, this time she made sure not to let out a moan, she rubbed her finger around it in tight circles as she pushed a finger as deep as she could into her dripping hole. She brushed a finger over her throbbing clit, and then as she started to rub harder she could feel herself getting so close. And with that the lights blinked on, immediately she pulled her hands away from her pussy. She managed to fasten the button on her jeans and pull the zip back up, looking down she could see her wetness glistening on her fingers. Oh god, she thought she really wanted to cum, she needed to finish herself off. Involuntarily she brought her fingers up to her nose, she breathed in and smelt. Right? His address was simple to locate, it was in the more chic part of the city where starving artists, and sorrowful musicians roamed the streets. Store lights kept the streets alive, holding overpriced art, and overpriced souls. Everything looked so breakable in these parts, frail boned models, and glossy windows. Exposure. I finally reached my destination. A large warehouse sort of place, it screamed at me to turn around and go back home. This place was no place for good girls like me. And even with all the foreshadowing, and the eerily large building before me, I found myself knocking at the door. It didn’t take him long to answer, almost as though he was already expecting me to take up his invitation. He opened the door, and looked me from head to toe. “Come in, come in,” he said in a friendly tone as he gestured toward the inside of his home. I stepped inside the door and an aroma of rich foods, and rosemary flowed through me. “Thank you,” I said shyly. His home was.
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