Eleanor wakes

Eleanor woke. She was incredibly, unusually horny, aroused and she realised that her left hand was on her left nipple, her erect, stiff, sensitive, practically rigid nipple and her right hand was between her plump but pretty thighs. In fact, the fingers of her left hand were squeezing her unyielding teat, which had grown so long that she wondered for how long she had been stroking it, and her right hand wasn’t just between her thighs, the fingers of her right hand, all four of them, were wet and gooey and almost up to her knuckles, inside the thick lips of her pussy.

Eleanor had been wanking herself in her sleep. She pulled the fingers of her right hand to her mouth, and without a second thought, tasted them. She, in the safety of the privacy of her own bed, enjoyed the delicacy of her own cunt.

Then Eleanor’s head cleared of sleep and became aware of her sexually charged state. She wondered what on earth she was doing. She hadn’t woken up as aroused as this for a long time, and her nipple, in fact both of her nipples, weren’t just sensitive, they were quite tender; no, not just tender, they were actually sore, but in a pleasurably wicked way. She stroked them again, and experienced such glory that her fingers returned to the wet warmth between her thighs. She pleasured herself again. Slowly she wondered how her teats were so tender, she knew that sensitive teats were one of the earliest symptoms of pregnancy but that couldn’t be the cause for her.

So why were her nipples so sore?

She sat up in bed and saw that there were lots of small bruises around her areola and her nipples were indeed wickedly upstanding, two deep pink flagpoles. She realised she was naked! Her breasts were displayed in all their grandeur; why on earth wasn’t she wearing her nightie?

Eleanor pulled the duvet away and sat on the side of the bed, then got up and stood in front of the mirror. She looked at the little bruises on her breasts, most of which were concentrated around her nipples. She stroked her teats again; ouch! They were so sore to touch! She must have been squeezing them half the night. What had put her in such a wanton mood before bed? She couldn’t, now she thought of it, remember much about the previous evening, indeed, couldn’t remember much after getting home from the library.

Did she have anything to eat last night? She was so incredibly hungry.

Eleanor looked at her nakedness, and gazing at her ample breasts, wished that she had a hungry mouth sucking from them, feeding from them, being nourished from them. Her rigid beautiful flagpoles ached to be nursed.

OMG! Did she really want to breastfeed a black baby? She had visions of being farmed as a white obedient cow, but to a black baby? Perhaps not a black baby, though that thought was not an unpleasant one, but perhaps to a black man, a black man smaller than her? Again, the thought was not an unpleasant one, but no, what thrilled her more than anything, and what shocked her more than anything, was the vision that thrilled her was, having a small black woman sucking on her ample, beautiful, heavy white breasts and yes, roughly handling and biting her, using her as a white cow!

Eleanor was amazed, in addition to being in heat, she had never before had lesbian thoughts.

Though she did own that she had perhaps had fantasies of serving a black man, and perhaps, just perhaps, she admitted to herself that she had the occasional yearning for a beautiful black baby, but what white woman hadn’t? Well, she read once that it was a common fantasy, so she knew that it wasn't just her.

But a black woman, where had that come from? Eleanor stared at her bruises and wondered and wondered.

She needed to go to the library later. Perhaps she might lie down first and cross her legs tightly and close her eyes and enjoy some fantasies first and then sleep some more.

She felt tired still, in fact, she was quite sleepy. As if she’d been awake all night.

First though she needed to eat. She was starving.