Confessions of a Kinky Divorcee by Lana Fox Read Free Book Online Page B

her bare arm, and suddenly my whole arm is tingling with the buzz I feel when our skins connect. ‘It
should
be easy for you,’ I say. ‘Love, I mean.’
    She smiles. ‘Thanks, Deborah.’
    ‘Call me Debs,’ I say.
    ‘Thanks, Debs,’ she says. ‘You’re lovely.’
    And that word,
lovely
, stays with me all the way to bed, glowing like an ember in my mind.
    12.30 a.m.
    Dear God, Kitten! I’m awake. Here’s why.
    First, Janey’s sleeping alone tonight. I know because I couldn’t sleep myself, so I decided to go and get Janey’s book on shoes from the table, thinking it would help to rest my mind. Anyway, as I’m passing Janey’s room, I hear this soft little moan, and I feel it like a burning pulse deep inside my pussy. (Honestly, Kitten! Smutty words are part of my everyday vocab, these days!) There’s a line of light surrounding Janey’s bedroom door, and when she moans again, more loudly, I’m drawn to her like a magnet. So I do a terrible thing! I kneel down in front of her door, my bare knees on the carpet, and gaze through the keyhole. Janey is lying on the floor, no less, her legs bent and splayed apart as she fucks herself with some kind of object. It’s pale-blue and she’s thrusting it fast, and oh, my God, I’m completely transfixed. She’s wearing the same tight T-shirt I saw her in earlier, but her lower half is bare, and her pussy, which is covered in downy blonde hair, is so wet that I hear the squelch as she pushes the toy in and out. Her phone is at her ear – she’s listening to someone – but she isn’t saying anything, just thrusting the toy. I find myself rubbing my own pussy as I crouch there, imagining I am in charge of the blue toy, and Janey’s eyes are fixed on mine. The heat I feel as I touch myself builds like crazy, and soon I’m dipping right into my pyjama bottoms and fucking my own pussy. I want to cry out myself because it feels so good, and I imagine peeling Janey’s T-shirt back and sucking on her breasts as I thrust that toy into her. Janey seems close – her eyes have glazed over, and I can see a spot of drool just at the left of her lips as she rolls and thrusts and pushes the toy in more deeply. Suddenly she murmurs, ‘Yes, I’m your slut, your little slut … yes, right up my … God …’ and suddenly the phone crashes to the floor and she’s groaning and thrusting and crying tiny swear-words. And just when she seems to be coming back down, she’s suddenly bucking again, and my own climax takes me over and I’m trying so hard to stay quiet as I feel the hot pleasure shooting through me. When I get back to my bedroom, I’m so turned on that I can barely scramble into my bed. As I touch myself beneath the sheets, I imagine that Janey is fucking me with that toy – the same one she’s had in her own pussy – and the sight of her above me, now utterly unclothed, with those tight little breasts and that pale, flawless skin, makes me purr and roll. But soon I want to imagine her body on top of mine, so I grab my pillow and push it between my thighs, rubbing myself against it as I would against her. And suddenly I’m so aroused that the whole room is morphing: the walls are falling back, and in the moonlight the Georgia O’Keeffe lily on the wall slowly expands. And I’m fucking Janey, and she’s fucking me – we’re rubbing against each other’s thighs, the sweet friction unbearable, as I topple into a climax that makes me splay my pussy hard against the pillow, as I ride the crest of this stretched-out high.
    Then after, as I lie collapsed and spread, I remember how Janey embraced my interest in shoes. Feeling suddenly aglow, I get up, flick on the light and wander over to my wardrobe. Opening the door, I stare down at the dozens of shoes that I adore – my bottle-green slingbacks; my strappy silver wedges; my Dorothy Ruby Slippers; my many pairs of kitten heels and stilettos for every occasion – and I feel sure, as I stand there, gazing down