23-10-2022, 07:26 AM
As I lay motionless on my bed, my mind wandered to what I could've done or said differently. First things first, I probably should've said no to the second bottle of wine. I wondered if I had acted a bit gentler or waited a little bit longer to touch her, whether I'd currently be in bed with her. But after so much time of analyzing my mistakes, I just started to think about her; that pretty face, those slender arms, those thighs and the way her shirt clung tightly to her chest, accentuating her... bountiful features. I recalled how firm and perky her breasts were and how hot she was between the legs. I wanted nothing more than to walk in her room and tear her clothes off and spend all night doing things to her. I wanted my hands all over her slender body. I wanted to hear what sounds she made and what face she pulled when she climaxed. But alas, here I was.
I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and found myself on Google. Soon, the whole screen was flooded with a wealth of images depicting up skirt shots, cleavage shots, wardrobe malfunctions and surprisingly sexy photo shoots of Aish. Masturbating over images of celebrities is natural to any male, but there was something particularly strange about doing so when that celebrity happens to be in the adjacent room. Nevertheless, a combination of this and the alcohol sent me into a deep sleep. My last conscious thought was whether she'd still be here when I woke up.
There was a loud knock at the door. My eyes open. I sit up, feeling remarkably alert. Beside me were some scrunched up tissues and my iPhone which had remained on and showed a particularly sexy picture of Aishwarya from some film; evidence of a particularly sordid and unglamorous moment from just before I fell asleep. I slipped my phone in my pocket and threw the tissues in the bin and headed for the door. The effects of the champagne had mostly worn off, although I'd be lying if I said I walked a perfectly straight line. I already suspected who was at the door. After all, who else knew where I was.
I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and found myself on Google. Soon, the whole screen was flooded with a wealth of images depicting up skirt shots, cleavage shots, wardrobe malfunctions and surprisingly sexy photo shoots of Aish. Masturbating over images of celebrities is natural to any male, but there was something particularly strange about doing so when that celebrity happens to be in the adjacent room. Nevertheless, a combination of this and the alcohol sent me into a deep sleep. My last conscious thought was whether she'd still be here when I woke up.
There was a loud knock at the door. My eyes open. I sit up, feeling remarkably alert. Beside me were some scrunched up tissues and my iPhone which had remained on and showed a particularly sexy picture of Aishwarya from some film; evidence of a particularly sordid and unglamorous moment from just before I fell asleep. I slipped my phone in my pocket and threw the tissues in the bin and headed for the door. The effects of the champagne had mostly worn off, although I'd be lying if I said I walked a perfectly straight line. I already suspected who was at the door. After all, who else knew where I was.
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