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Nestled deep inside the blankets, Eva turns to her back. She’s still half-asleep, in that pleasant haze between dream and the waking world. The dream that she had lingers, whispers of it tickling her skin. There had been hands, warm, wandering hands. There had been a mouth, grinning against hers.
Eva smiles against her pillow. Her golden hair ruffled by sleep and spread all over the pillows like silky streams of water. Her fingers tuck a few strands away from her face but she refuses to open her eyes. The lingering dream is too nice, her skin too warm under her blankets and against her pillows.
She hums and slips her hands lower, quickly pulling up her night-shirt. Her fingers are a little too cool for comfort but they serve their purpose when circling her nipples. She imagines her dream-lovers hands. She pinches, she twirls the nubs and pinches them again until they’re hard. She rubs her thighs together and imagines a hard body on top of her, ravishing her.
Slowly her fingers warm up as she caresses herself. She tugs off the blanket and slips her fingers under her panties, tickling the coarse trail of fair hair. She quickly tugs off the underwear entirely and spreads her legs. Still she keeps her eyes closed, her head in the dream. Her hands wander lower and lower, over her thighs.
Her skin rises to goosebumps, her teeth nibble on her lip. Oh, if she had company they’d kiss her neck, her breasts, her stomach. She’s sure they’d make her squeal and then she could ride them. Or maybe she’d suck them, lick them and they’d do the same for her.
She slides a finger between her outer lips, finding a hint of wetness. A soft little noise escapes as she slides the finger back, brushing her clitoris. With her other hand she keeps the lips open, gently caressing the soft, soft skin. While the other one begins to explore. She circles her wetness with a fingertip, then two, then three. Then back to just two, alternating between gentle rubs and smoother caresses. She stops to rub her clitoris, her hips bucking.
Then she slips her fingers to her entrance again, a fingertip passing the quivering softness.
“Mmmmmm.” She’s lost in this hyperfocus of her own body: her body arching against her own fingers. She rubs and strokes and rubs even more, her clit hard, her fluid beginning to spread. She spreads it more herself, until her entire vulva glistens with it. Oh, if only she had someone to lick it off, straight from the source.
Her rubbing quickens, intensifies, then goes slower again. All heat in her body is gathering to the hot spot between her thighs.
The dream is fading to nothing but a faint memory, her own hands the only ones on her body but they’re more than enough. If she were less lethargic, less lazy, she would use one of her toys but for now this will do. She knows where to rub and how to caress to make herself wet, she knows what fantasies to conjure up to deepen the pleasure.
She squirms, her muscles tightening as she penetrates herself with two fingers. She curls them, twists them, slips them out to rub her clitoris. Beautiful little noises escape in constant succession from her lips, her body arching as she gets closer and closer and closer, until finally she’s gasping, her vulva contracting and spilling more fluid to her fingers and to her sheets.
She lets the feeling wash over her and then slumps down, bringing her wet fingers to her lips. She smiles to herself and finally opens her eyes to greet the day.