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“Damn! Damn! Damn!”
Laura Venton stood alone in the large living room, her fingertips held tightly together and pressed against her lips. It was happening again, for the third time this week. That awful, awful hot itchy feeling between her legs was back. Closing her eyes, the attractive, 36-year-old blonde sucked in a deep breath, feeling her flesh tingling with pleasure. Pleasure? Laura smiled bitterly, letting out the air with a small moan.
Why couldn’t she admit it to herself? Why couldn’t she admit what kind of pleasure she was thinking of and wishing she could have, all the while knowing she would never get? Sexual pleasure! There, she’d said it to herself, thought about it. Sexual pleasure, something there had been little of in her short marriage with her former husband, Brad.
Yes, there had been very little of that kind of pleasure with her ex and even less after their ugly divorce. God, what a fool she’d been to marry him and couple her life with his.
And yet how strong and handsome he’d been, how virile, how he’d overwhelmed her one night just before they had announced their engagement. Even now Laura shuddered, still feeling his rough, callused hands smoothing over her bare arms, sliding down her bra straps, his fingers pinching her nipples while his knees spread hers apart! She had been so hot for him for so long, barely been able to keep him from climbing onto her and, and fucking her.
“Fucking…”
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.