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Girls Just Want To Have Fun - Day 2 Ch 17
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Thursday - Chapter 17
©Virginia Alison, ©Keith David, ©Tiffany St David, ©Lucy Dee Blake

Giving myself a couple of minutes to go over the entire day, I very pleased as to how it has all panned out. Tom, used and abused, will go home to Tiffany and maybe, just maybe, he will appreciate what a wonderful wife he has, will take her in his arms and make love to her as if it was the first time. If my assessment of the situation is correct, and usually, I am spot on, tomorrow will be a breeze.

Lucy is looking very bleary eyed when I stroll into the bedroom. Snuggled up on the bed, I am almost tempted to ravish her, but I think better of it, ‘Let her sleep’ I sigh to myself, and gathering my bits and pieces I quietly let myself out of the door. Freddie will be along shortly to pick me up from the coffee shop on the corner and I feel a little spring in my step as I saunter along the road, the air is cool and there is not much traffic in this quiet little piece of suburbia. The coffee shop is bustling but I am served quickly and sit down outside with my latté to wait for my lift.

This is my just cause for the month. This job is a freebie for Lucy, but I will reap its rewards nevertheless. Tom, Tiffany and Lucy will also get something out of this little game. Tom and Tiffany, once they have calmed down, will eventually see the funny side and Lucy, sweet Lucy she and I are going to become very, very good friends.

“Home James, and don’t spare the horses,” I tell Freddie, getting into the cab, and once indoors, I run a bath, grab the wine and sink back into the warmth. The scent of gardenias permeates the air from the oils in the water and lying back musing over the events of the day, I can feel the aches and pains drift away, “You’re getting too old for this Rosie,” I think to myself as eventually I drag myself out of the bath and into bed.

I hear Rosie leave. She thought I was sleepy and had left me to rest, but my lethargy is not the result of fatigue. A dark cloud now hangs over me – an overwhelming feeling of loss. Not that Tiff was ever really mine, but it had felt that way long enough to tease and torment me, to awaken all of the fantasies I had kept restrained. I wanted her now even more than I had when all of this had started, and she was his again.

I drift into the kitchen and yank a half full bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cupboard. I should be celebrating our success, and not lamenting my loss, but I cannot help myself. I had committed myself to making whatever sacrifice that I would have to make to see her happy again. It was turning out to be harder than I had thought it would be. I still want her, and the selfish side of me was rearing its ugly head. A little Jack, and some titillating risqué thrill, would help me silence it again. - - - Okay, maybe a lot of Jack.

After I turn on some gloomy blues music, and down about a third of what remains in the bottle, I throw on something sexy. I go through my favourite box of kinky things, sometimes used for photo shoots of wives wanting pictures to help steam things up with their unenthused husbands. I pull out a pair of black lacy stockings, a little pink satin thong, also decked out in black lace, and matching bra, and a pair of outrageous stilettos. I shimmy into this unorthodox outfit, and then reach for one of the white cotton men’s dress shirts I have hanging in my closet and throw it on, on top of my get-up.

I sway around the room to the music, enjoying the feel of being “naughty” as I down some more JD. Giggling to myself, I decide I need to go for something even more wicked and I teeter over to the window. The lights undimmed behind me, I throw open the curtains and stare out at the late night street below. There is nobody in sight, much to my dismay - nobody to witness my window show. That is when I notice a window on in a building across the way and a middle-aged balding man in shorts and a white t-shirt gazing at me wide-eyed. I grin, taking another swig from my bottle and let the dress shirt slip open. The man gapes now, and he cannot hide that he finds me arousing.

Laughing aloud, I spread my legs wide as I prop one stilettoed foot atop the windowsill. As he continues to watch me, I slide my hand down to my thong and slip my fingers underneath its satin triangle. Eying him smugly, and continuing to drink from the bottle, I start to pleasure myself, teasing my clit with my soft fingertips. I tilt my head back and moan loudly, grasping the neck of the bottle between finger and thumb and cupping my breast with the remaining fingers. I rub at the stiff nipple through the flimsy fabric of my bra, and start to work two of my fingers into my pussy.

I sneak a peek at my voyeur. He is now eagerly pressed to his window, one hand clutching the side of his window and the other working away at his throbbing erection. I lean in toward the window and trace the lip of the bottle slowly with my tongue, before taking another sip.

As we both work our way fervently towards climax, I pant, hiss, and swear, trying to push thoughts of Tiff out of my mind. It does not work, and as a groin-numbing orgasm overcomes me, I focus on my memories of the day.

Trembling from tingly bliss but only slightly sated, I leave my perch by the window and drag myself back to the bed. Lying there, I continue to stroke myself and I finish off the rest of the Jack, whispering Tiff’s name until alcohol and exhaustion overtake me.