Rachel's Fetish

Rachel was just stepping out of the shower when she heard the door of her apartment close. Her roommate, leaving for an overnight shift at her job and giving Rachel a rare night alone in the apartment. That meant wine, candles, her latest trashy romance novel, and… a niggling idea that wouldn’t go away, thanks to one Phoebe Buffay. When she’d mentioned having a little ‘me time’ earlier, Phoebe had jumped right to ‘walking around naked.’ The kinky weirdo, of course she was into that. The thought hadn’t entered Rachel’s mind but now that it was there, it refused to leave. As Rachel wrapped a robe around her body, she couldn’t help but think of all the times Phoebe must’ve been running round nude. Hell, she’d lived with Monica before Rachel did. She had probably been naked right in the very same kitchen that Rachel was walking into! She reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. Just as she did, her robe slipped and she quickly pulled it back into place. But why? She was alone. She was a grown woman. She appreciated her body and she definitely wasn’t a prude, whatever Phoebe thought. Fuck it. She quickly slipped the robe off and let it drop to the floor.

“Oh, would you look what happened,” she looked around in faux-shock.

She stood stiffly at the kitchen table for a while, feeling the cool air on skin that was still a little wet from the shower. Her nipples stiffened, rising into firm, sensitive points.

Check me out, she thought, I’m in my kitchen… naked.

A little ripple ran up her spine. She liked it.

“Iiiiiiii love to love you, baby” Rachel swung her hips to the song, singing along with a wooden spoon for a mic. “Iiiiiii love to love you, baby, ow!”

She could see her reflection in the large window out into the balcony, her toned body, perky breasts, even the little strip of dark hair leading between her thighs. She traced the end of the spoon across one of those thighs as the music continued, her body almost moving on its own to the song that she’d always thought of as seduction music. She’d played it one night for Ross as she gave him a lapdance on the same couch that she was stood right next to now. That was a good night.

Ross was probably sitting across the street in his own apartment. Maybe he was grading papers at his desk. He could see through the window. All he'd have to do is look up. Maybe he was looking right now, his cock hard in his pants. Hard at the sight of her, wanton and naked. The wooden spoon moved across her thigh again and she spread her legs just a little, letting it slip between. She jumped as it brushed against her outer lips and it was only then that she realised she was wet. She pulled the spoon away and saw the wood glistening in the candlelight.

Her legs suddenly feeling weak, she leaned against the corner of the sofa. As the song carried on, so did her hips. The corner rubbed against her pussy, a material with just enough give in it to press between her lips in the most satisfying way.

“Oh my god,” Rachel gasped, dropping the spoon.

“Give it to me again and again,” the song went, “You put me in such an awful spin.”

Eyes closed tight, she started to rock herself back and forth on the corner. Soon she found the perfect motion, the corner hitting her clit at the peak of each thrust. Again and again. She shamelessly humped the sofa, letting out the kind of deep, unstoppable moans her previous lovers had hardly ever elicited from her. She could feel her legs starting to fail her but she couldn’t stop. Her whole body shook on the peak of a climax. Just as that wave began to crest, she opened her eyes and looked out the window. A strange sort of awareness took hold of her. She could feel the tiny droplets of water running down her breasts, the cool air on her bare ass, the ridges in the fabric of the couch as they parted the lips of her wet, wanting pussy. Most of all, she felt eyes. All the people outside that window, any of them could be watching. Watching her fuck herself. Watching her ****, writhing body. Watching her be dirty. She climaxed with a scream, hips bucking. If it wasn’t for her nails dug into the material, she might’ve gone flying over the sofa. It took a few minutes for her to catch her breath, to let the stars fade from her vision. Finally, she let her fingers relax and she collapsed onto the sofa.

“Oh my god,” she repeated as the music faded. Even in the post-orgasm haze, she noticed she was lying with her ass on full view to the window and it sent another little thrill rippling through her.

Once her legs no longer threatened to buckle, she sat up properly and took stock.

What the hell was that? She reached between her legs, suppressing a shiver as she ran a finger up and down. So wet. Ridiculously wet. A guy could spend hours on foreplay and not get her as monstrously turned-on as one little act of exhibitionism. She had never been a prude, or at least tried not to be after moving to New York. She’d had some incredible, wild sex with Paolo and she’d entertained plenty of Ross’ fantasies. But this was new. This was hers, her fetish, the thing that drove her crazy. And she wanted more.