Her Coercive Tone, 17: The Long Haul

Dorris made the rounds in her apartment: killing the power strip that managed her TV and speakers, turning out the kitchen light, then the hall light. In darkness she clutched the tiny naked man between her boobs, pressing his turned head against the silk over her chest. She stood there for a moment in the carpeted crossroads between the kitchen and the bathroom, between the front door and her bedroom. Marco was stiff and motionless in her soft, hot palm. Light shone in a brilliant seam under her front door, and across her bedroom, street lights glowed dimly through the curtains, but otherwise the darkness was profound.

She stood still as well, lacking visual cues to keep her upright. Balance relied entirely on her own sense of equilibrium now. Her toes (cutely, she thought) scrunched the carpet fibers, and her heart bumped softly against the shrunken man. Her lips curled up into a sly grin as she slid the frozen figure’s turned face against her silk pajama top. She ran his head from between her breasts, along the curve of one boob, and then finally nudged his face against her nipple. She wasn’t hard yet, but she wondered if teasing herself with her coworker’s face could do the trick.

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