Nancy stares at her almost naked self (save for printed baby blue underwear) in the mirror, jutting her bottom lip out slightly as she analyses different parts of her body.
suddenly, theres long, slim fingers coming from behind her, carressing her neck and shoulders. veiny hands run down along her chest and one focuses on cupping her breast while the other spares a few fingers to twist around her nipple.
The one focuses on the nipple, as the second starts to feel down her stomach, the bracelets catching on her skin ever so gently. The fingers start to rake their nails softly down the skin of her stomach, stopping just before the hem of her underwear. The painted index finger stretches the elastic before dipping the entire hand towards her pulsating clit.
Nancy gasps.
She shakes her head, and moves to put on the rest of her pajamas, sighing to herself.
She can't be thinking about that. That's not hers to think about. Not who she's supposed to be thinking about, ever. It should be Jonathan, or Steve, or any other man.
Not her.
