****** Bedtime by Scoundrel ******
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Bedtime


No guilt attached to this one, as it is a solo performance. I endeavored to
create a realistic, vivid environment this time, one that you could see
clearly. A future scenario which has yet to, but will definitely occur.

For your reading pleasure, friend...

Chris' hands had a blue cast as she fumbled with the brass key to her room.
"Damn! I can't believe how cold it is! C'mon, open. Open!" She muttered, her
breath billowing in icy clouds about her face. Finally the stubborn silver lock
acquiesced to her demanding fingers, admitting her to the hotel room. She
pushed inside with all her luggage hurriedly, slamming the heavy grey metal
door against the bitter cold without.

A quick survey revealed a large but simply furnished brown-carpeted room,
consisting of two double beds with navy blue coverlets, separated by a night
stand containing a note pad and phone. A low chest squatted on the opposite
wall, and held a TV. By the window were arranged a round worktable and two
chairs. Lamps with beige pleated shades stood by the door and over each bed,
casting the room in a warm soft glow. In the back were a closet, a sink/vanity,
and a bathroom. The cream colored walls held two pastel pictures of peacocks
nuzzling amid floral brush. Nothing fancy, but luxury was not exactly high on
Chris' list of importance right now. Shivering, she spotted what she was
scanning for; a thermostat sitting squarely on the far wall next to the
cuddling birds. Dropping her cumbersome baggage in the floor, she crossed the
room and adjusted the heat from 68 to 75 degrees, with the fan on high. She
knew she would soon be roasting with that kind of temperature setting, but she
was chilled to her bones and at the moment being too warm sounded impossible.
Leaving her things in disarray on the floor, she walked purposefully to the
bathroom and turned on the shower. Hot, steaming water shot out of the nozzle
and Chris quickly stripped off her clothes. The white ceramic floor tiles were
cold to her already chilled bare feet, so she hastened to get under the torrent
pouring from the spout.

Ah, pure bliss, this. For a long moment, she did nothing but stand under the
cascade of warmth, letting the heated water warm her icy skin. Rivulets of
water traced trails down her face and neck, running over and between her white
breasts, down her belly and between her thighs. She felt as though she could
spend the entire evening just standing there soaking up the heat. Finally,
though, she reached for a bar of soap and lathered a washcloth. She scrubbed
her face, then attacked her body with long sweeping strokes, erasing the feel
of the freezing cold and long hours on the road. Without rinsing, she scooped
up the shampoo and applied a generous amount to her wet tresses. She massaged
the shampoo into her hair, enjoying the fragrance of it. Soon she was
completely covered, mounds of glistening soap bubbles inching down her body
toward the floor of the tub. Chris wiggled luxuriously at the slick feel of her
own body. She dropped the washcloth and began running her hands over herself,
sliding them up her tummy to her ample breasts, massaging the soapy foam into
them. "Mmm, this feels so good!" She thought, then grinned to herself guiltily.
"Not even here ten minutes, and already I am doing naughty things with myself.
What kind of person am I?" She smiled again. "A hedonistic, uninhibited woman
who likes pleasure very, very much. That is what kind of person I am." She
continued rubbing her tits, rolling her hardening nipples between her fingers.
Soon she was moaning softly and ready for more serious play. She stepped back
under the spray and rinsed herself thoroughly, then turned off the water. She
wrapped a towel around her hair, then grabbed another one to dry her body. As
when washing, she attacked herself with vigor, rubbing the dampness out of her
now warm skin. Once dry, she applied her efforts to her hair, first toweling
it, then brushing it until the damp tendrils hung down her back and around her
face, giving her a rather tousled appearance.

Warm and dry, she picked up her things from the floor, placing her luggage on
the dresser, and the CD player on the table. She popped in her "City of Angels"
soundtrack, which seemed to fit her current mood. The lyrics of "Angel" seared
her straight to her soul. Her eyes closed with the poignant pain reverberating
in the singer's voice. She sighed, and returned to the task at hand.

Rummaging through her things produced a cozy over-sized navy blue and black
plaid flannel shirt, which she donned, rolling the sleeves to the middle of her
forearm. The tail of the shirt reached mid thigh, covering enough of her body
so that she was not indecent, but short enough to hint at what lay just above
the hem of the fabric. She scrutinized herself in the dresser mirror, turning
around to see the affect. Not that anyone else was going to be seeing her like
this, for she was in an unfamiliar city for a professional meeting, and would
be spending the entire week on her own, alone. She never looked forward to
spending time away from her family, but she had to admit that the quiet was
very peaceful.

Chris reached out to shut the suitcase, when a gleam of white caught her eye.
Further investigation revealed something which made her smile and wince at the
same time. It was odd that such an innocent seeming object could produce such a
strong reaction; indeed, it was not the object itself, but the story associated
with it that caused Chris to blush so deeply. She reached in and withdrew the
long tapered white candle, holding it in her hands, remembering her previous
activity with it. She sighed, closed the suitcase, and, placing the candle on
the nightstand, crawled under the warm soft blankets of the bed nearest the
window.

Ten minutes later, gasping audibly, moans escaping her lips, she fumbled over
the nightstand and curled her fingers around the slender stem of wax. She had
teased herself into a frenzy, stroking her breasts and clit, and plunging her
fingers inside herself until she had to have a release. She rose to a kneeling
position in the center of the bed, resting her buttocks on her feet. Slowly,
almost guiltily she brought the larger rounded end of the candle to the opening
of her vagina, then slid it in just as slowly, groaning with the pleasure of
initial entry. She began languidly pumping the candle in and out of herself,
each movement eliciting a little cry from her throat. The image in the mirror
across from her was of a woman complete lost in herself, head thrown back with
long dark hair brushing her feet as she bent backwards, writhing in pleasure.
She could feel herself moving toward climax, and thrust the candle harder and
faster to bring herself to orgasm. Her hips began moving of their own volition,
pushing to meet each violent thrust. Her cries became more desperate, almost
guttural in her need. Finally she came, wave after wave of pleasure washing
over her. She bit her lip to keep from screaming, and could feel both the
candle and her hand becoming slippery. Her movements slowed, then stopped as
she collapsed back onto the bed, the candle still sliding wetly within her. She
withdrew it reluctantly and placed it, now glistening, back on the nightstand.

"Not a bad start on the week." She thought as she stretched lazily, completely
satisfied, then snuggled under the covers for a good night's sleep.