- Angela Martin made it to her breeding season – 01
- Angela Martin made it to her breeding season – 02
Angela Martin opened the door to her new apartment and breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally,” she thought, “Time to relax…”
The room had the scent of freshness about it, a nice change from the heavier, musty smell of her old apartment. Angela held a cardboard box with all her more intimate belongings – the kinds of things she wouldn’t want the movers to find if they ‘accidently’ took a peek inside the box labeled “PERSONAL” with a large black marker.
“That’d give them too much of a thrill,” Angela smiled to herself as she surveyed her new surroundings. She found the apartment a few days before, and immediately she knew she had to have it.
The hardwood main floor opened up into a spacious living room from which connected a small white kitchen complete with dividing counter-space. A bathroom with shower and bathtub were opposite, and nearby led into her new bedroom – white walls and spacious floor waiting to be filled. Angela stepped into the empty bedroom, the “PERSONAL” box cradled in her arms.
The movers weren’t due to arrive for another hour, and in the meantime Angela had little else to do. She had taken the day off of waitressing at the coffee house so she could set up her new apartment, and without her computer to update her blog or even a couch to daydream on she had nothing left except to wait for the rest of her things to come in.
Angela looked down at her box and stroked the edges pensively. “Hmmm, I guess it wouldn’t hurt…” she murmured. She glanced around the empty apartment, a grin tugging on the corners of her mouth. “I’ll just take a peek till those guys get here…”
She closed the door to her new bedroom and sat down, placed the box between her legs, and opened it. Inside she found a few of her tank tops, tight blue jeans, mid thigh-length skirts, thin socks, and other bits of clothing. Angela wore those kinds of clothes whenever she could – her more-than handfuls of breasts felt so snug in her tight tank tops, and her jeans hugged her ass perfectly.
Others definitely noticed as she sauntered along the streets in a short skirt or while she was waitressing, hips swaying and breasts jutting. Their attention always had a way of making her smile.
But that was just a cover for her real treasures. Pawing aside the upper layers of clothes, Angela pulled out a lacy pink thong. The dainty thing wrapped around her fingers like a silky string, and she sighed – She hadn’t gotten to wear it for anyone lately.
Her work demanded most of her time, and combined with the rigors of being an aspiring author and maintaining an online blog for the masses, she was just too busy to find herself some guy to show off how sexy she looked with a little pink thong on – and nothing else.
“Oh well,” Angela thought with a shrug, “I know I’ll still enjoy it.”
With a catfish grin Angela stood up and slipped off her white panties. The change was easy since she wore a short skirt with her tight t-shirt, and when the thong slid up and around her ass she felt a little jolt run through her. She could remember posing in them before for one of her boyfriends – and the pictures of that little photoshoot she still kept in her scrapbook.
Her still-warm panties found a place in the box and were buried again as she sat and dug deeper. She touched the soft leathery corner of her personal scrapbook. “Gotcha!“ she pulled out the small tome and set it onto her lap. The plain cover hid the pages and pages of pictures Angela had found in her explorations into the darker side of the internet.
Halfway through she found the high-resolution black-and-white photographs she adored, the ones with a pair of red lips barely touching the head of a stiff cock or a woman pushed down onto a plush bed by a man taking her from behind.
Often she had fantasies develop around these pictures, ones she typed down for her blog – ones she brought with her to bed late at night. She looked at a picture of a tall strong man holding a limp and naked girl in his burly arms, his face hidden by the shadow as he held his prize before him. Claimed by him.
Inspired, Angela put the book aside and rummaged around some more in the box. At the very bottom her fingers brushed by something firm and long – just what she was looking for. She pulled out her hidden toy, a rabbit vibrator, squeezing the firm yet yielding gel shaft into her palm and stroking the clit stimulator in slow deliberate circles.
“Hmmm… If only you were real…” Angela mused, stroking her finger down and over the bulbous head. She imagined it belonging to the strong man in the photo, tall and fit, his cock ready to fuck her at just the sight of her shaking her ass in her pink lacy thong.
“Mmmm…” She thought of how he would want her so bad that she would feel it in his gaze, feel it in his grip around her waist, and that he wouldn’t hesitate to push her to the floor and take her like an animal. Her panties were getting moist at the thought, and when she lifted up her little skirt she could see the light pink fabric darkening with her juices…
Angela began to move the toy along her wet pussy, a little tease as she imagined the man rubbing his cock up and down her aching slit. “Naughty girl, getting fucked on the bedroom floor…” She pulled her panties aside, imagining her dainty hand was his instead, pulling away the light protection of fabric with rough and powerful fingers that grazed her soft inner thighs. She could see his muscles tensing, readying to thrust inside her hot and ready pussy as she pressed the toy into her tight pus-
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
Angela shoved the dildo under the clothes in her box along with her scrapbook and jumped to her feet in half a second, her heart pounding as she rearranged her panties over her frustrated sex.
“Shit, the movers,” Angela thought, “They must have come early!” Carefully, she smoothed her skirt down over herself and brushed at her bedhead hair with her hand before stamping to the door. “God damn, they were supposed to be here in an hour… ughhhh!” Angela gripped the knob and threw open the door, but her glare melted. Three men stood in the doorway, looking down at her.