I had no intentions of touching myself last night. And then I thought of his tongue on my pussy, his teeth on my clit.
My body tensed, reflexively. My cunt tightened and pulsed. I had a need.
The past few nights had been disappointing. Frantic stroking had produced nothing but frustration. Last night was different.
I slowly, softly, delicately touched my lips, feeling my juices, smelling my own scent. My finger leisurely drew whorlish patterns around my pussy and across my clit.
I felt my body tense. My impatient nature came screaming to the forefront.
No, just ride this one out, I thought to myself. Relax and breathe.
Agonizingly slow, I continued to stroke my very wet, very hot clit. Over and over, a constant, gentle stroking. My body began to shake from the exertion of staying relaxed.
As I moved closer towards release, my clit became slicker and somehow more decadent than before. As I began to drift with the currents of sensations I was creating, I abruptly exploded across my hands. My clit was swollen and so sensitive. I came again with a few firm strokes. My fluids dripped down my lips into my ass, pooling under me.
Drunk on the feeling of release, I rubbed, tapped, and abused my pussy to feel myself spurt across my hand again. My personal perfume filled my room. I wanted to continue, wanted that power of controlling my own body, bending it to my will, creating sensations long forgotten, maybe never known.
Instead, I rolled to my side, curled my wet hand under my cheek, and closed my eyes.