Finger Frustration


I looked upon my face in the bathroom mirror, and it was unlike so many times before. My skin was glowing with a thin layer of sweat, my cheeks had a pink flush slapped across them, and my lips were a shade of red that reminded me only of the sweetest strawberries. The excited glint I held in my eyes with anticipation was faded now, replaced with fatigue – the same fatigue that ached through my arms, my back, and my legs. If I weren’t so steeped in satisfaction and sweat, I’d smile at my reflection in a way that would put the most wonderful innuendo to shame. Instead, I turned the tap on and ran my sticky fingers beneath the cold water, washing away every trace of my lust that wasn’t contained in a thin, inadequate layer of cotton.

Twenty minutes ago, I writhed in bed, suddenly switched on to the most wonderful fantasies, none of which were new to me. Quite expected, actually. It’s become a sort of ritualistic, expected occurrence, every night. Like the changing of the werewolf on a full moon’s night, or Jekyll into Hyde, all my reasoning and logic melts into something insatiably monstrous when the sun dips below the horizon. I always sate the beast with the most furious motions in between my legs, and as suddenly as it began, it ended all the same, reduced to nothing more than the Pacific Ocean that resided south of my navel – ready to start all over the next night.

I canlı bahis let a pair of fingers travel south in the heat of my daily routine, moving them in furious circles around the round of flesh that raised itself under my touch. The sensations were wondrous, but somehow held no joy in my most physically sensitive of areas. I laid there, working frantically to push myself over the proverbial edge until my dominant limb felt weak. I slowed and pushed myself onto my stomach, removing my digits from the warmth nestled between my thighs and sighed. I needed passion, I needed heat, and I needed something new. Technically, I needed a man, but for me? Those are always in short supply.

With a groan of frustration I closed my eyes and rolled my hips against the mounds of blankets wadded around my waist, and what came was not the stretch of muscles I had anticipated, but a dull shock, arching through my loins. My lips parted in a quiet gasp that accompanied the fluttering open of two exhausted eyes. I pressed my mound into the bedding once more, harder this time, and the dull shock escalated into a full jolt, stunning my mouth open into a moan. The lust that buried itself in my stomach returned with full force further south and turned gentle, exploratory pushes into frenzied thrusts against the soft fabric.

It was wonderful, but I wanted more.

I pulled myself out bahis siteleri of bed and shoved three pillows to the floor, piling them up and topping them messily with a blanket. I took one awkward walk to the door to made sure it was locked, to the television to raise the volume, and to the window to let in the night air. Then I was back at my soft pile on the floor, lowering myself to the ridges in the blanket and positioning the most substantial lump at the warmest, wettest section of cotton between my legs. It wasn’t a man, that was for damn sure, but it had a significant enough breadth and mass to it that I could feel the muscles in my legs stretching and the moist heat between my legs afire, like a match upon a pool of gasoline – ignited by the lump that split my lips apart.

That ridge gave me the most wonderful feeling of being filled, like my fingers never seemed to replicate. The pressure shot chills under every inch of my skin, clasping my hands around anything they could encompass, while my eyes closed in the heat of the moment. Once it passed, I anchored one hand against the wall, the other hand on the support beam of my bed, and clenched my thighs around the large bulge I sat upon. My hips rolled gently back and forth, exploring the ridges with increasing force until my hips were slapping roughly against the soft material. I tipped my head back slightly and began bahis şirketleri to imagine my fantasy lover, laying on the floor with upturned, lusting brown eyes, his hands guiding my hips to collide with his. Every thrust of his pelvis that pushed into mine was accentuated with labored breaths that escaped my lips and the slaps of skin that marked frenzied fucking.

I started thrusting my hips harder against my imaginary-makeshift lover. Every roll of my hips against the pillows coincided with the rough fucking the theater of my mind was producing in vivid detail, down to the moles and freckles of my lover’s skin I delighted in kissing, and the twist of his lips that contorted in pleasure. I pushed myself deeply onto my lover only a few times more before I felt the familiar rise that expanded through my nether regions. Before I could stop myself, hoping to extend the wondrous sensations that flooded my veins and skin, I gave a quiet cry with one last meeting of my hips and pleasure. Thighs clenched tightly around my seat sent spasms ripping through my arms and legs as I did so. My mind conjured the most wonderfully animalistic groan from my lover as he held me as close to him as possible, prisoner to the feeling of his own release. One more quick motion of my hips echoed the feeling through my body weakly before I collapsed forward onto the beige carpet, chest heaving with deep, tired breaths.

When I regained my wits, I opened my eyes and looked behind me. With a quiet chuckle, I took in the sight of my hips and legs, still draped languidly over my new favorite form of self-satisfaction.

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