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I wake up horny, likely because I was having erotic dreams again. My very own tantalising hot sex story. But, as usual, when I attempt to poke around in my memory to recall them, to find out what sexiness my sleeping mind conjured up, the dreams dissipate like smoke. All I’m left with is a vague inkling that something filthy took place in my unconscious world, and the very real sensations in my body.

My nipples are hard, tingling and sensitive, my breasts heavy. My pussy is swollen, needy, and aches to be filled. I squeeze my thighs together, which obviously doesn’t do a damn thing to assuage my suddenly intense sexual cravings. But I know what will.

I smile, open my eyes and look over to Jimmy’s side of the bed. He isn’t there. My smile fades as I reach out and smooth a hand over the sheets, only to find them cold. He’s been gone a while. I pout, then roll onto my back and stretch languorously, enjoying the delicious pull in my muscles as I do so. I wriggle into the soft bedding—which feels divine against my naked skin. It gives off the faint aroma of clean laundry, and a less faint aroma of sex. I smirk. The latter is no surprise. Since Jimmy and I have been on our much-needed holiday, we’ve barely been able to keep our hands off each other.

With the blessed luxury of time on our side, we’ve played hard—fast, slow, different positions, loads of foreplay, no foreplay at all, toys, in the garden, the bathtub, over the kitchen counter… I’m not sure it was quite what the hosts of our rental had in mind when they told us to make ourselves at home, but hey, we’ve had tons of fun and haven’t broken anything. Yet. Thank goodness it’s a self-contained house on its own plot of land—no neighbours to disturb or offend. Or make jealous.

The sensual flashbacks of our copious lovemaking flitting through my mind ramp up my arousal further still. I’m temptedto call out for Jimmy, but I’ve no idea where he is, whether he’ll hear me, and I can’t be bothered to get out of bed just yet to go and find him. I’m comfortable here. I could send him a text, I suppose, or call him on his mobile phone. Mine’s on my nightstand—I wouldn’t even have to leave the bed.