Closing her book and sweeping both hands through her curly brown hair, Heather White crossed and uncrossed her long legs knowing what that was about. A storm was coming in from the southeast and that always made her feel sexy. At all other times it took a guy to be pressing her button before she became interested in sex.
The nearby town's assistant librarian leaned back in her chair, pulled her short white skirt back and cupped her pussy. It was warm, almost vibrating and a quick slide of a finger confirmed it was a swollen and open a little, ready to open wide at the touch of a hot cock, not matter whose cock. Husband Ralph was away for two days and her toys were in the dressing room. She didn't feel like walking that far to pull one out of the box because that permissiveness always made her feel she was such a slut. There was the long-spout china teapot her mother had found for her in England but asking people to drink tea after she had shoved the spout up her...gad, how embarrassing, even if it had gone through the dishwater a couple of times at high heat.
She patted her pussy again. It felt even warmer. The end of the rolling pin would do; nobody ate or drank off the handle. She rose, feeling tightness in her bra. So her tits were swollen; that wasn't surprising.
Heather heard the wind whistle through the pines and knew from her tension the air pressure was up, ready to be blown asunder when the storm hit, backed by a low pressure system. They needed the rain. The wind-dried pastures were beginning to show signs of stress.
She squeezed a breast and knew she wanted sex. Then she heard it -- a vehicle arriving.
Heather's forehead squeezed in anguish. She hoped it wasn't a lone woman who might not appreciate being fondled and coerced into licking and fingering and might rush off to the police to press charges of sexual violation against her.
She stood transfixed, like a doe ready to run. But run where? Although only mid-afternoon it was dull outside and because of the wide roof overhand she'd had lights on, so the caller would know someone was home.
There was a light knock at the door.
Then a heavier one.
And a real thump.
Heather hurried to the door ready to tell the caller to go away if it were a woman.
To her relief she saw it was a man.
To Heather's horror she realized it was Rev Hopkins.
"Go away," she shouted, her mind in an uproar. The young Rev Hopkins had only married Gweneth Proud last month and she and Ralph had attended the wedding. She attempted to slam the door but was out-maneuvered.
Bruce pushed a hip against the door to prevent it shutting. He pushed it open and came inside, shutting the door behind him.
"Heather -- what's wrong? Is there someone in here threatening you?"
"Only the Devil," she said fearlessly, not minding if such talk scared the crap out of him.
