Touching Story of Self Touch
- 4 months ago
- 1 min read
- 1,332 views
My hand traces over my breast, still burning from your teasing before you left. I pull the buttons of my shirt open, pulling the fabric and slide my hands inside, over my skin, the way you did. My fingers trace over my nipple until it tightens.
I slide my fingers down my belly. My panties shimmy down my legs. The cool air caresses me, as I splay my legs, wishing you were watching.
My hand knead my inner thighs. I wish you were here. I wish it was your hands.
My hand cups my sensitive mound, steam rises as my cool digits brush the heated folds of flesh. I dip two fingers into the dew, dragging them up to the sensitive nub. I’ll finish the tease you started.
My hand pulls away from the tease. I lap at the pads of my fingers, damp with cream of your making. After tasting the surge, my hand slips back between my legs.
My hips rock; my finger circles; my moans rise.
The desire you started will be sated. I imagine it’s your fingers on me, your body over me, your moans echoing.
A buzz permeates my body. Your buzz.
I’m so close to the edge. The experience begs to be prolonged, but I am too greedy, a delay in ecstasy too agonizing.
I pinch my nipple pulling a cry from my throat, your name escapes from my lips.
It is the thought of you drinking me that pushes me over the edge.
I thrash against the sheets in perfect pleasure. Do you know you’ve made me come again?
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