Wooden Floors

Laura closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard. She felt its reassuring hardness press against her and the warmth of her apartment just start to seep into her wet clothes and warm her cold, damp body.

It had been a long day. A long day and a hard day, full of irritating requests and difficult clients. She could take satisfaction in that every one had been dealt with and she'd achieved a lot but still, it had been hard work.

The final insult had been the cancellation of the bus home from the tube station. On a warm summer evening she didn't much bother with the bus but, on an icy cold December evening in the freezing rain and driving wind, the twenty minutes home was almost unbearable.

But here she was. Finally. Shivering with cold, soaking wet and out of breath from climbing three flights of stairs, but none the less here, at home in her beautiful apartment.

Laura lived alone, which was exactly how she liked it. Her boyfriend, John, lived five minutes away which Laura thought was the perfect distance. It kept him close but gave her her space.

Three years ago a room mate had moved out to go and live with a guy and Laura had found herself living alone by necessity. At first she had hated it but within six months found she couldn't imagine living any other way. Just over a year ago she had found this place and fallen in love straight away. She never wanted to leave.

It was the roofspace of a large town manor converted into flats. This had clearly been the attic and would have made an awkward proposition for a developer. It had a large floor space but much of it was unusable as the roof sloped down from the gable right down to the eaves on both sides.

But Laura had loved the triangular space it gave her, it felt like living in a tent, and she loved the heavy wooden beams that ran along her sloping ceilings from floor to ceiling. And it was deliciously warm. The roof was well insulated but the floors below were not, so heat bled from the rest of the building into Laura's space. This was supplemented by her own powerful central heating system, with a timer set to forty minutes before she came home so it was now pleasantly toasty.

She took a moment just to lean against her solid oak door, keeping the outside world outside, just to catch her breath and enjoy the warmth.

She had dropped her bag as soon as she was through the door and soon her beret and

coat followed, dropped crumpled where they lay. The coat had been chosen more for reasons of style than substance and hadn't proved much of a defence against the weather. She felt her blouse. It was soaked through.

Laura kicked off her shoes and made her way into the flat. She unbuttoned her blouse as she did so and peeled the white, clingy cotton, made translucent from the rain, from her damp body. Next to follow was her sensible, but ever so slightly too tight, knee length pencil skirt, also soaking wet.

Clad now only in her undergarments, Laura had made her way to the bathroom and turned the large bronze taps, just fleckled with corrosion. Hot water gushed out creating a spreading pool of water in the generous tub and filling the room with steam. Lotions were added to the swelling pool to make it froth and gurgle.

Laura reached up and felt the lacy material of her bra. It was soaking too, so she undid the clasp and let it fall to the floor. Her stockings and knickers soon followed. She was still too cold to walk around her apartment naked so she wrapped her chilled but rapidly thawing body in a cosy white dressing gown and walked out of the bathroom.

There was a fireplace in the end wall of the apartment, the only one that behaved itself by going from floor to ceiling in perpendicular fashion. Laura busied herself with kindling, firelighters and wood logs to get a fire going.

Once the wood was spitting and the flames jumping she made her way into the kitchen, just checking on the progress of the bath. She carved thick slices from a fresh loaf she took from the cupboard with an antique serrated knife with a thick black handle she had bought at a market in Provence. She popped the slices in the toaster.

Next she poured herself a large class of a very expensive bottle of Pouilly Fume and moved around her apartment lighting the numerous candles scattered around it until she heard the toaster pop. The bath was full now and close to scalding, exactly how she liked it. She twisted the taps to silent.

Back in the kitchen she spread generous slabs of butter and honey over the hot toast and carried her toast and wine over to the fire which was crackling nicely now.

She sat in silence, eating her toast and honey, drinking her wine and feeling the heat of the fire on her skin. The chill was beginning to leave her and the hot flames, the central heating and the thick dressing gown were beginning to make her feel almost uncomfortable.

Laura loosened the belt of her robe and let it fall open in front of her. She sat with her bare buttocks on the rug in front of the fire, her long legs curled up in front of her, her bare breasts exposed to the fire.

She took great pleasure in simple but expensive things, the warm toast and honey, the elegant cultured wine in its crystal glass, the feel of the soft rug and the robe against her body, the heat of the fire against her tits.

Slowly chewing the last of the toast and savouring the cool wine, she stood up and made her way to the bathroom. She let her robe fall to the floor where her discarded underwear already lay. She dipped a toe into the water and let it find the bottom, she then lowered her whole body into the water, gasping a little at the heat.

The feeling of warmth and luxuriance entered into her, the last chill in her bones was banished as the soft scented water gently caressed her skin. She allowed herself to surrender to a sense of total indulgence as she sipped on the cool wine she was still holding, savouring the contrast with the hot water.

It was this total indulgence that she valued so highly about living alone. John had wanted to come over tonight but she had put him off, it wouldn't be possible to totally please herself if he were here. True they would probably end up fucking and that was a pleasant thought, even a little exciting, but sometimes, often even, Laura only really wanted to worry about pleasing one person, her self.

Besides it was Thursday so the maid had been, the house was tidy and the bedding freshly laundered, she didn't want some smelly man coming in and messing the place up. She wanted it all to herself.

So she lay there, soaking, thinking about nothing much apart from how nice she was feeling. She briefly thought about John and almost missed him. Thought about how well he fucked her and how it might perhaps have been nice if he were here to kiss her pussy and slip his big cock inside her.

But she would see him tomorrow, plenty of time for the two of then to get naughty then. Besides she didn't need a man around to enjoy herself. She didn't need anyone really.

Eventually though it was time to get out. She had put the moment off for as long as she could and had kept the hot water topped up to prolong the moment but there comes a point where even relaxation becomes irksome and the body gets restless for a change.

The water cascaded off her shining wet body as she stood up. The sudden contrast in movement, the heat and steam of the room and the good white wine all conspired to give her a momentary headrush. It passed as quickly as it came but for a little moment she had felt quite woozy and even wondered if she might fall.

She shrugged it off and steeped onto the rug by the bathtub, water still dripping from her as she did. She opened a cupboard and took out a large fluffy white towel and rubbed herself dry, making sure to notice the feel of the soft, high quality cotton against her delicate skin.

After she had dried herself to her satisfaction, she let the towel drop to the floor, much the same way she had thoughtlessly discarded her outdoor clothes the moment she had got inside. She wasn't quite dry, there was too much steam and moisture in the air for that, but it was good enough. Her skin was pink and glowing and a little dampness suited it.

There was a full length mirror in the bathroom and she looked at her naked reflection but only her ghost looked back. The mirror was too fogged for anything more than an indistinct shadow of herself to be observed.

Laura had a sudden desire to look at herself so left the bathroom for the mirror in the main room. She left wet footprints on the polished wooden floorboards. Even though the fire had sunk down while she had been bathing, the apartment was toasty warm and she was quite comfortable walking entirely nude, however bitter it may have been outside.

The majority of the apartment, apart from the bathroom and the small kitchen, was a single large room which served as Laura's bedroom, dressing room and living room. It was no good for company and wouldn't work for two but it suited Laura's solitary habits perfectly.

There were velux windows in the sloping roof and two windows flanked the fireplace in the end wall. Thick blinds were pulled down on the velux, which not only blocked the light, when there was any, but also muffled the sound of the rain driving hard against them.

However Laura noticed that one of the end windows had its curtains open. Quite apart from whether or not anyone could see her in her exposed state, she found the black square of nothingness quite offensive.

Before pulling the curtains to, she paused and peered out into the street. It was dark, deserted and rainlashed. All the curtains opposite were drawn. There was nobody there at all to look up and see the beautiful, bare breasted brunette haloed in soft light on the upper window. Laura looked out at the dismal scene, shuddered and pulled the curtains.

It hadn't bothered her at all, the thought she might be observed. She wasn't an exhibitionist but nor was she at all hung up about her body, although given how she looked she had no rights to be.

She allowed herself a wry smile though as she remembered a night last spring when she had looked across the way directly into a bedroom opposite where a couple where, presumably unknowingly, fully exposed having sex.

Well fully exposed is not quite right. Laura had only seen the girl. Clearly she had been on top riding her man. She had been facing the window, an ecstatic look on her face as she bounced up and down, her tits bouncing as she moved up and down her man's cock.

The girl had not been particularly pretty nor her body particularly shapely but she was quite transfigured by her rapture. Laura hasn't meant to stare but couldn't help herself, had found herself lingering by the window, a little back to remain unobserved, just watching.

A minute or two later the girl had moved away, lowering her body onto her lover's, changing position and Laura couldn't see anymore. She stayed watching for a moment longer and caught the odd glimpse of hair, a back, an arm but nothing more.

Laura had never had a lesbian impulse in her life. Nor was she the sort of girl to get off on videos of nubile young women on the Internet pleasuring themselves or each other, as she knew some of her straight female friends did.

Yet there was no doubt that she had found watching the girl opposite fucking her man, even if the man himself was invisible and the girl plain, incredibly arousing. She had realised that she had been rubbing herself through her skirt as she watched and when the girl disappeared she had retired to her bed and brought herself to orgasm thinking about the girl and the unknown man she was riding and the obvious pleasure it gave her.

It had always been a little fantasy of hers to provide a similar thrill to someone else, that someone somewhere was getting off at the thought of her hard, lithe body. It was part of why she liked to walk naked around the house and why she hadn't minded appearing bare breasted at the window. But the night was a bleak one and she gladly pulled the curtain closed, sealing up the warm luxuriousness of her apartment.

Besides she didn't need an audience. She turned and stood in front of the full length mirror, admiring her nude form.

There was no question that she was a beauty. At twenty six she was in the full bloom of her womanhood. Her body perhaps didn't have the full ripeness of her eighteen year old self but nor had age yet begun to corrupt it. What she had now, that she had lacked at eighteen was the full maturity and confidence in her body. A maturity that gave her elegance even when fully naked.

Laura was a tall woman with a willowy waive to her figure. Her long hair, normally light brown, was now soaked almost black and hung around her shoulders in wet strands. Her skin was soft, pale and firm. She had a narrow waist, a flat tummy and high perky tits. The light brown fuzz of a neatly trimmed bush nestled between her upper thighs.

It wasn't simple narcissism that lead her to gaze at her reflection, although there was an element of that. She was fascinated by this woman looking back at her, about the way she looked to the outside world that was often different to how she felt. She stared into her own blue eyes, trying to understand the woman staring back at her.

But partly, yes, it made her feel sexy checking herself out in the mirror, glorying in her long limbs, taut flesh and pale beauty. She imagined John was watching her and getting hard as he did. It was a good thought.

She turned around to look at her pert, round little arse. She opened her legs a little and leaned over, showing her pussy like a porn star. It felt naughty but it felt good. She imagined John slipping up behind her, sliding his hard cock into her. It made her feel a little wet.

There was an old armchair facing the mirror and now she turned and sat down in it, her thighs pressed together. Shyly, even though she was alone in the room, she slightly parted her legs, letting her soft brown bush just peep through.

She experimented with crossing and recrossing her legs, letting her pussy flash in and out of sight. She liked to think how excited John, or any other man for that matter, would be feeling if he were here right now. It was a pleasing thought.

In the end she went for the full porn star, sprawled backwards in the chair, tits splayed across her chests, legs not only open but spread wide, calves dangling over each arm of the chair, spread so wide her pussy lips were pulled apart and her wet, pink slit was clearly visible through the fuzz of her bush.

Laura surveyed her reflection in the mirror and looked at the hot, wanton hussy looking back at her. She would never be so bold if John were here but alone she could indulge her fantasies. Her slightly parted pussy was thrust out to the mirror, the first and most arresting thing about her that the mirror revealed.

Still playing a part more than to genuinely indulge, she slipped a finger into her slit, to watch herself masturbate and was surprised by how wet she was already. The temptation just to give in, to finger herself as she watched in the mirror was almost overwhelming.

But not quite, she watched herself finger herself a little, exciting herself as she did so, but no more than half a dozen long slow strokes between her wet lips. Then she folded up her legs and sat up in the chair. The pose might have been almost demure but naked as she was it just drew attention to the way her tits jutted out from her chest.

She was tempted to photograph herself and send it to John, get his mind racing until he could get there to fuck her, whenever that is that she was ready to have him fuck her. But she was too shy.

Too shy for full nudity anyway. It might be fun to dress up just a little bit naughty for him, but nothing so racy it should cause her problems if the picture somehow ended up going astray.

She walked over to her lingerie draw. Just before opening it, she remembered that her index finger was still wet with her own juices. She put out her long red tongue and licked her fingers clean like a cat. She didn't find it particularly arousing, although she was sure John would if he were there. It did briefly make her wonder though what another woman's pussy would taste like.

Laura picked out a black lace bra, knickers, stockings and suspenders. A classic look but one she knew John liked. She sat down in front of the mirror again and rolled the stockings over her long, lithe legs. She looked at herself in the mirror again, being naked apart from her black stockings just made her feel even more like a porn star.

On a sudden impulse, she got up, leaving the bra and knickers behind and went to the wardrobe by her bed. There, right at the bottom were a pair of what her friend Hannah described as hooker's boots. They were shiny patent leather, coming up to her kneee with some of the most ridiculous stepped heels she owned.

She had brought them a couple of months ago in a market in Camden. She had fallen in love with then almost straight away but they were so obviously slutty that she hadn't really been brave enough to wear them out.

But feeling secure in her safe cocoon of an apartment she pulled them on now over her stockinged feet. She was about to pull the wardrobe drawer shut when she caught a further glimpse of black leather. She pulled the fitted black leather jacket from the rack and slipped her taut upper body into it.

Laura strode back over to the mirror, although perhaps it would be better to say that she stalked, given the heels she had on. She wasn't entirely comfortable in heels, she certainly wasn't the sort of girl who wore them everyday but she liked starting them from time to time. She liked the way they elongated her already long legs and pushed her arse up.

She looked at herself in the mirror clad in nothing but stockings, her patent leather boots and her leather jacket, tits and pussy both fully exposed. She liked what she saw.

She put the zip of her jacket in its clasp and pulled it up a couple of inches, to just below her tits but made sure that her pert breasts stuck out proud from the stiff, black material. She wasn't feeling like leaving anything to the imagination.

Laura looked killer. She didn't need John there to admire her, she just fucking knew it. She dropped the idea of photographing herself like that, the look was a little too explicit for that. But she did think she might wear it for John. She pictured calling him round tomorrow morning and opening the door to him only wearing what she had on now.

Perhaps she wouldn't even say anything, simply drop to her knees and start sucking his dick, make him feel so goddamm lucky. Maybe she'd even let him cum on her tits.

She could feel herself getting wetter and wetter. She didn't dress up for John that often, on the whole she preferred to be fully nude in bed but she knew how much he liked it when she did, how excited it got him. And that got her excited.

Her glass was empty, so she walked over to the kitchen to refill it, enjoying the pleasing clack of her heels on the polished wood as she moved. The dull ache of her pussy was something to be almost savoured, a pleasure postponed being almost as good as a pleasure prolonged. She felt like a hooker moving about her apartment and fetching drinks in that ridiculous outfit.

But the only one getting pleasured tonight would be her.

She stood in front of the fire. It had become a thing of white ash and cherry red heat. She could feel herself sweating, little beads of moisture forming on her brow and tickling down her cleavage. She was a creature of fire and worshipped the heat but even she was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.