The dream evaporated as soon as I shifted from deep sleep to drowsy wakefulness. I don’t know what happened or who was in it, but I knew what I wanted.
John Brownstone and his thick, firm, warm fingers deep in my cunt.
But he wasn’t in bed. I heard him moving around in another room. Too tired to call for him and hoping he might walk in at any moment, I wondered what to do.
As it had been doing for days, an image that Molly had shared flashed in my mind.
I wonder what I would look like. Do I even remember how I feel anymore?
Wanting fingers I couldn’t have, my sleepy self decided my own would do. And if he happened to walk in and “catch” me, all the better.
I traced my outer labia, smooth, soft, full. The sensation was comforting, sensual…but not sexual. My fingers wandered over curves and lines. This is my vulva.
I spread my legs wide, wanting to feel the cool air on damp skin. Without pause, my fingers explored, moving deeper into my body. Clit. Inner labia, small petals against my hand.
The air around me shifted. I’d moved from a sensuous exploration to something distinctly earthier and sexual. A wanting.
For seconds, then minutes I kept up a patient movement. Up, down, around, inside, outside. I felt the changes in my cunt. As desire swelled so too did my barely there labia and reluctant clitoris. I imagined petals opening to morning light. My body beading with morning dew.
It was too good to rush. I wanted his hands inside me, spreading, stretching, invading. Mine would have to do, but that’s not what I wanted from myself.
Instead I stroked and petted, rediscovering a vulva I had long ignored. Barely remembered pleasure blossomed deep inside. The faint stirrings of need fluttered beneath my fingers.
On a different day, in a different moment, I might have rubbed my clit fast and hard enough to start a fire to get the release I craved.
This day my natural impatience would not do. I forced myself to slow down, to think about what his fingers would do in my place.
The first orgasms were barely blips on the radar. Though my body clenched around the fantasy of his touch. The next were deeper, enough to send my heels digging into the mattress.
Still I allowed my fingers to trace the lines of my vulva, learning and rediscovering it’s peaks and valleys, the deep wells and fragrant petals…until I stopped as gently and quietly as I’d begun.
A big thank you to Molly Moore for inspiring the image I’m sharing to illustrate this rare moment of self-pleasure. For more Masturbation Monday smut, click the purple button below and for more erotic images, click the lips!