Wet nights and dampened mornings

Maude woke up without her nightdress in a bed still dampened by rainwater… among other things. The window remained open, but now its thin curtain danced lazily in the gentle breeze and blazing light of a refreshed summer morn. The smell of dew-soaked greenery wafted in, singing the praises of last night’s storm by a world no longer thirsting.

Still half-drowned in the events of the previous evening, she struggled to sort between dream and reality: The naked stranger had come in through that window, two stories up, in the middle of a storm. They had… She had proceeded to pin Maude down and kiss her with more passion than the timid schoolteacher had ever experienced in any of her, admittedly few, forays into romance. And Maude had returned that kiss, perhaps at a loss of anything else to do… or perhaps in entrancement of the rain-soaked scent of exotic oils in the woman's wild hair and the roiling weight of her unclothed form. She had felt trapped and shocked by the forwardness of the encounter, but not unsafe in any way. It was all too unreal to process in the moment besides a sudden, roaring emergence of forever held-back urges.

Soon her own long and modest nightwear had been discarded and she could feel the friction of the stranger’s skin against her own. Feel the stroke and scratch of fingertips and nails used in expert exploration. The whisper of lips across her neck and shoulders or the sharp pinch of teeth brought to bear just as readily.

The woman was young and strong and moved completely without hesitation in a way that Maude had never felt capable. She brought her face down to Maude's breasts and suckled in a way most unlike any babe a good mother might hope to rear. The stranger had flicked at each nipple with her tongue, sending sparks through the tender bud of nerves hiding there. Then had grinned at her victim's gasping reactions, only to dive back in and chew on those sensitivities as well.

For the first time in her life, Maude had felt another person's hand crawling its way up her inner thigh. Felt it find those secret folds she had been told to guard against all and any wants or lusts. Felt her own absolute readiness to let this complete stranger break that thrice-damned taboo. Felt her own liquid eagerness to be freed from the shame and chain of chastity. When the woman's digits had reached a certain point near the top; Maude's mind had gone white. Her every inch awakening and muscle clenching in electrified shock and pleasure. Never had anyone's physicality burrowed into her own in such a way, and plucked on her soul like a harp. She heard her own mouth release a series of moans wholly beyond the scope of decency… and knew immediately she would give anything to be made to coo so again.

Then suddenly, she had been faced with something she was even less prepared for: The stranger had clambered up and straddled thighs either side of Maude's ears. The schoolteacher found herself face to face with the waiting pink flower of another from her sex, unsure of the etiquette involved. Her base politeness would not let her leave such a thing in wanting, though… She was raised to give in to expectations if nothing else. With tentative pause but at least ample curiosity, she had stretched out her own tongue to meet that layered entrance. Then, when no harm seemed to come from this; she slowly revved up to lapping like a cat at a saucer. This seemed to please the saucer herself, for soon she was grinding her hips forward in encouragement: meeting each flick of that muscle. Maude had been swept up in the excitement of what she was drawing from the depths of this other, buried in the scent and taste and squeeze of those thighs. It was suffocating and exhilarating and seemed so wrong but so right. Nothing else in her life seemed ever to have mattered so much as drawing this woman to a precipice she was approaching and throwing her over that edge. Until, with a screech like a wild animal… those legs slammed tight against her ears! A hand wrenched deep into the hair of her scalp and her features were doused with a torrent of jus de femme.

That was the memory Maude woke up still soaking in, in a bed now conspicuously empty.