A busy day

Busy day, my room needs painting. I started early, still not done. Hard to focus when that brush keeps feeling thick and stiff in my grip. Every stroke pulls my mind somewhere else. I drop the brush, lie back on the half-painted floorboards, and let my fingers wander. My blond hair fans out as my other hand finds my breast, squeezing, thumb circling the nipple until it tightens. Heat builds fast. I spread my legs wider, slide two fingers between them, already slick. The brunette who lives next door flashes through my head and I bite my lip, working myself faster. My breath turns ragged. Pressure mounts low and urgent. I moan, hips lifting, and suddenly I let go, a hot, wet rush spilling over my fingers and onto the bare boards. The puddle spreads, warm and shameless, marking the floor I still have to paint. Relief washes through me, thighs trembling, a small satisfied smile on my lips.