It had been too long, too many nights without feeling my hand on my pussy. It was time to return to normal, get out of my head and into my body.
As I took off my clothes, goosebumps pebbled my skin. I shivered as I slid into bed. I turned on some music. John Mayer sang Half of My Heart – appropriate on so many levels.
My hands began to move in a familiar pattern, slowly across my body, luxuriating in the feel of my own skin. Cold fingers reached my cunt. I jumped as they pressed deep, rubbing the soft outer labia.
Take your time, no need to rush, I thought to myself.
As my fingers began to slowly warm, I allowed them to move deeper inside of me. With exquisite accuracy, my fingers circled my clit, over and over, before finding my center. Gently, my finger stroked my clit.
My other hand tweaked a nipple, then latched on, pulling, hard, tight. My back arched until the top of my head met the pillow. I felt warm come flow down my pussy. My finger, ever insistent, languidly stroked my clit, unceasing.
I felt the orgasm rising like a river, gradually, imperceptibly. I punished my nipples, randomly, with increasing pain, until I began to cry silently. The juices began to flow, and like a rising river, once my orgasm crested, it was unstoppable. I came in my own hand, juices oozing down my ass to the bed beneath me, my fingers sticky.
I laid in bed for a little longer, listening to the music I had forgotten all about.