Slow Burn/Fridget 3
Bridget lies on her cream colored leather sofa, arms stretched over her head, legs crossed at the ankle, eyes closed. Although the television is on in the background she has the volume set to mute and only occasionally opens her eyes to see what show is playing. It"s Friday evening and although she had been invited out to drinks with friends, she declined the invitation, opting for a quiet night at home with a bottle of wine. Wearing only a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a green cami top, she is comfortable and content in her solitude. The last few weeks had been exciting, exhilarating and overwhelming. Her new position at Wentworth had proven to be both refreshing and confounding in its challenge and she was pleased at having made the decision to accept the position when it was offered to her. Of course she couldn't deny the compulsion she felt toward Franky Doyle. In the days following the revelation about Franky being a former inmate at Wentworth, it was all Bridget could do not to look up her file and learn more about the woman whose playful persona seemed the antithesis of the reputation that proceeded her. After all, Bridget truly believed that people could change even in the face of the most tragic adversity. She wouldn't be in the profession she"s in if she believed otherwise and the fact that Franky Doyle moved beyond a history that should have otherwise mapped out the rest of her life, was testament to someone's ability to transform themselves.
"Bridget, get your head out of there, enough about Franky Doyle….," she smiled to herself in frustration and shook her head.
Sitting up slightly, she leaned over the coffee table and reached for her second glass of wine. She sipped on the sweet red and felt its warmth travel through her bloodstream. She lay back down and her body sank into the plush cushions of the sofa. She sensed a subtle urge growing inside of her, slowly bubbling beneath her skin and became aware that her right hand was lying across her left breast and to her surprise, she could feel her hardened nipple through the fabric of her shirt. With her left arm stretched over the back of the sofa, she encircled her nipple with her right index finger and bringing her thumb up, pinched the hardened bud just enough to heighten the sensation. With her legs crossed at the ankle, she could feel the swelling of her clit as it pressed against the seam of her cut-off jean shorts. Slightly lifting and lowering her hips to cause a warm friction between her shorts and her pussy, Bridget slides her hand under her shirt and with more deliberation, pinches her nipple a little tighter. Releasing a low, breathy moan, she knows that she has moved beyond the point of cessation. She slowly removes her hand from under her shirt and lets her fingers travel across her belly, over the zipper of her shorts, and find their way to the seam that is covering her clit. She rubs her hand slowly, exerting just enough pressure to increase her arousal. She can feel the warmth of her juices between her legs and she can no longer resist the urge to feel that wetness on her fingers. Lifting her hips, she slides her shorts off of her small body and tosses them at the foot of the couch. Lying back, legs splayed open, the coolness of the room air meshes with the heat rising from between her legs and the contrast sends goosebumps along her body.
Bridget moves her hand along the inside of her right thigh until it meets the crease that connects her thigh bone to her pubic bone. Placing the palm of her hand over her pussy, she slowly rubs up and down, feeling her warmth, her wetness, the small patch of neatly groomed hair. Much like she does in every other part of her life, she takes in all the senses and adjusts herself accordingly. Sliding her middle finger from the bottom of her pussy opening, upward, Bridget opens herself, gathers her juices, and rubs her clit until it is fully engorged and erect. Taking her middle finger, she buries it deep inside of herself and with slow, circular motions, she gently loosens her inner walls. Bringing her other hand down from over her head, she finds her nipple and squeezes it hard, all the while quickening the pace in which she is fucking herself. With every thrust of her finger, the fleshy part of her palm slams into her clit, sending shockwaves through her body. Breathing heavily and moaning, Bridget can feel her insides begin to tighten around her finger, her hips are moving in synch with her thrusts and as she arches her back and braces herself for the impending explosion, she envisions a beautiful, dark-haired woman laying on top of her, fingers inside of her, grey-eyes looking into her own blue eyes, and as she cums with earth shaking violence, she hears the woman say, "Give it to me Gidget."
Bridget just lay there, clad in only a shirt, knee bent up, left hand covering her eyes and all she could think was, "Fucking hell…."