As the hot sun increased the sweet heat on the crotch of her panties, she dropped one foot over the edge of the couch and to the floor. The other leg she bent at the knee, letting it rest on the back of the couch. The sun was full on her pussy now, and that felt even better. She lifted her sweater beneath her tits and slipped her hand beneath it, cupping her tit that way.

Laura felt very wicked, playing with herself like this, especially in the living room. She loved to feel wicked.

Laura had grown up in a home filled with no-no's. Her parents had been extremely restrictive, refusing to let her date even in high school. Sex was never mentioned, not under any circumstances. It was nasty, something best never thought about.

She had been caught doing those nasty things to her body, and had been whipped cruelly by her father. How could anything that felt so good be nasty? Ice cream tasted good, but no one called it nasty. Her cunt felt good, but it was nasty. It was all very confusing to her, then. It still was, to some degree.

Then she married after high school, and her body was ready for it.

Her mind was ready for it.

And she didn't get it.

Her husband wasn't interested in her delicious, succulent body. He thought fucking her once a month was enough. But Laura's body, her cunt, cried out for hard cock, demanding to be fucked.

Her husband, like her father before, thought she was nasty. He didn't say nasty, but said she was a nymphomaniac. Laura didn't know what a nymphomaniac was, and looked it up. That puzzled her even more. Her desires didn't fit the criteria of nymphomania. Laura had orgasms, and everything she read about that strange word indicated there was no orgasm involved, but a desperate search for it. Her husband also said she was sex crazy, that she had nothing but sex on her mind.