The bedroom was beginning to lighten with shades of pink and orange when Anne drifted into consciousness. The smell of the fresh sheets mingled freely with the scents of their lovemaking the night before. Detergent fragrance and fresh sea air intertwined with Anne and Jean and flavored lube and perfume and cologne and wine, all rolled together in a heady mix of overpowering smelly stuff.
Anne was taking all this in, this strange and wonderful mixture, when she noted the interloping undercurrent on the wind, something she recognized, but couldn’t immediately identify. It was deep and rich… coffee. Yes, someone had made coffee. Someone. Jean. He wasn’t in the bed and then she realized that in the end, he wasn’t supposed to be, either. His absence from her side was as alien as his presence would have been. She smiled sleepily at the thought, then began the process of sitting up, shaking her hair loose, and running her hands through the long locks to substitute for a brush. A hastily straightened rat’s nest, but it would do. She was quite sure Jean wouldn’t mind. After all, he was the cause of it in the first place, he could hardly complain about it.
Looking over the side of the bed, Anne found the short silk robe on the hardwood and slipped it on, tying it loosely about her waist as she slid from the bed. She liked the feel of the silk against her skin, and loved the way it fit her so perfectly, barely reaching the bottom of her ass cheeks. She found a pair of white ankle socks in the top dresser drawer and got them on her feet, taking a moment as she bent over to glance behind her at the full length mirror in the corner. She found the view of her own bare pussy lips there strangely beautiful and arousing. She paused only for a moment, then straightened and padded off in search of the coffee pot, acutely aware of silk and sea breeze brushing her nipples beneath the mostly open robe.
(Continued below the fold)