Oh My! Not Again!(Jennifer’s Story)
NOTE: read “bottom-to-top” (wink*:o)

Five

I must say that the most appalling, shocking, and embarrassing aspect of awakening, sans the red bikini, was the fact that I came awake in our backyard. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the “how did I get here???” moment. When I awoke, I was completely spread egale’, as they say in the French Countryside, and the brass of the brass bed was shining in the all-too-hot sunlight.

I looked back at my bare legs–leaning up, on my elbows–and peered over my shoulder, and the shock at where I was, and particularly, where my disrobed condition was presenting itself, sent my reeling emotions crashing into a sort of stunned disbelief. My two (shall I say?) full and shapely breasts heaved upwards, to the nipples; which, to judge by my 20/20 vision, had both gone rock-hard, pointing northward. My fine, pointed, nipples, were deep pink in coloration. The backyard was a sun-lit stage, an ungovernable universe, with me as the opening act.

There were no clothes in sight, as far as I could see. No sandals, or mini-skirt nearby. No hiding, as long as I stayed where I was. It was just the backyard, the brass bed, the crab-grass, and little ‘ole bare-assed-naked me.  I scrunched down on the bed (in my shame!) and, wondered to myself, how it was I’d gotten from the bedroom to the open space of our backyard. The thought flashed through my buzzing brain (in the time it takes to realize the predicament of my sprawled nudity) that “my ass was cooked, but good.”

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One Response to “Five”

  1. Glad to see this story is not only continuing but picking up a little speed. You do a great job of communicating both the sensual and the psychological nuances of and that’s what keeps me coming back. Don’t be discouraged by the scarcity of comments. You can be sure there are plenty of silent readers out here. Your presentation of the story, however, does require a certain amount of perseverance on the part of the reader, who has to negotiate a chronology that is spread over 15 fictional years, several real-time months and multiple websites, not to mention a thicket of wacky fonts and eye-burning colors. Still, I’m hooked enough to jump through whatever hoops you put in front of me to find out what happens next.

    Michael


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