The skin of the peach with fragrant down pliant beneath her fingers, glistened with crystal beads of moisture. They coated her fingertips as she played thoughtlessly with the fruit and looked out on the warm day.
She watched the breeze through the trees come and play silently with the curtains, drawn back to expose her room to the world. The hairs on her arms and neck flexed, her skin contracted, and her eyes closed. Now the world was the heavy glow behind her eyelids and the fruit in her hand.
Her fingers sank into the peach and she felt the resistance give when the skin broke; felt the juice well up and overflow; smelt the sweetness of the flesh; enjoyed the wetness of her lips, the stirred hunger in the pit of her stomach. She pushed harder and juice dripped down her arm, leaving a trail of sticky circles at her feet.
She played with them, running her toes back and forth through the honey of the fruit, viscous and fragrant, until her right foot was slick with the sweet sticky juice. She plunged deeper into the fruit. With eyes now wide she watched as the juices welled up around her fingers, ring deep in the peach. Watched as it overflowed and slid languorously down towards her waiting tongue.
The droplets she missed cascaded down her forearm to gather at her elbow. There they hung heavy until the weight loosened them. She felt the feather-light sensation of droplets land and drip down her inner thigh. Felt the stickiness of the peach tease her own wetness.
Now that she could feel the stone of the peach, she was desperate to rip the flesh from it. She squeezed it hard and bit into the crushed flesh. Its perfume filled her, the juices flowed through her and down her. She was gripped by the throbbing freedom of being fully in her body. Every sense was attuned to this moment.
As she felt the firmness of the flesh fill her throat she felt, too, her left hand firmly grip her inner thigh and smooth the sweet peach juice towards her wetness. Her fingers brushed the thick hair that hugged her fruit and then she was pushing into that flesh too, begging for the juice of the second fruit.
The breeze cooled the juice that dripped from her chin onto her chest. The sensation spread like fingers across her skin, teasing her breasts and tightening her nipples. She finished the fruit as low sultry trails collected in her belly button and popped the stone in her mouth.
She sucked the last of the flesh free from the pit, discarded it and wiped her chin with the back of her juicy right hand. With her back curving into a deep arch she circled her climax, teased it until, in a frenzy, she came – the smell of peaches on her fingers.
Satisfied, she sat silently in the warmth of the sun, the sticky juice drying on her skin.