She stepped from the pines into my secret poppy field. A stranger.

Looking up, I saw laughing, smoldering eyes watching me caressing, my story abandoned.

"Are you touching or typing?"

"Umm, touching."

She glanced at the words. “History? Or fantasy?”

“Both?”

I laid back as her hands caressed up my thighs, gently replaced my fingers. I sighed as her strokes and kisses and licks took me over the edge, a thousand explosions.

(!)

Hours, orgasms later, her mischievous smile illuminated again.

She read aloud from my platen.

“She stepped from the pines into my secret poppy field. A stranger…”