Do I think about you when I touch myself? M/F

This is my first post so be gentle with me! Moderators I hope I have followed the rules correctly :)

DO I THINK ABOUT YOU WHEN I TOUCH MYSELF?

One day you asked me what I think about when I touch myself.

Do I think about you? I know this is the unspoken question that you want to ask but wont.

I do think about you, you as you are today, in a black T-Shirt smelling like Chanel, fully clothed while I lay here in my towel. I imagine the roughness of your jeans sliding across my body. Skin so sensitive and soft because I just got out of the bath. Looking at you thinking, what will you do?

Will you lean over me, pinning both wrists above my head with one hand while the other lazily traces its way down to my pussy. I squirm when you do this, embarrassed because I haven’t trimmed like I should have. You don’t let me pull away, stroking your fingers through me with a twinkle in your eye. Releasing my wrists you roll me over, giving my ass a smack, hard enough to leave your handprint, not hard enough to really hurt. Taking advantage of this position you trace kisses down my spine. One hand reaching under to stoke my clit, the other firmly holding the back of my neck, my face pressed into a pillow that smells like you.

That is what I imagine when I am being a good girl, light and girlish. Rolling in clean sheets and playing with myself as the afternoon summer sun warms my naked flesh.

SOMETIMES I AM NOT A GOOD GIRL

Sometimes, late at night, when you have gone out with the boys, I get into bed and I lick my index finger, spreading my knees wide. I slowly trace my folds, and enjoy the growing wetness, avoiding that delicious little button. The longer I make this last, the better it will be.

I imagine the time when we were first dating and I knew nothing about you, so unsure of what you wanted from me. I imagine that you send me a text like this one:

“Be at my place at 9, have a relaxing afternoon, remember to shave, and don’t you dare wear panties”
That is demanding I think. I’ll shave when I want to shave! But the specific request makes me think that I should, just in case. What do you have in store for me?

At 9 I walk up the concrete steps to your apartment, hastily shoving some breath mints in my mouth and running my tongue over my teeth to wipe away any traces of my dark red lipstick. Before I have a chance to knock on the hard wood of your front door it swings open. There you are. A white dress shirt partially unbuttoned. I can see the curl of your chest hair, a reminder of the masculine body which I already love so much.

You place a finger upon my lips, “Not a word” you say as you take my hand and lead me through the hallway. You guide me in front of you as we climb the stairs to the upper level of your apartment. I am keenly aware of your gaze heating my bare pussy as my black skirt swishes around my upper thighs.

When I reach the top step you wrap your arm around my waist and pull me back into you. With a coarse whisper you say “Make me proud love. If you say anything, anything at all, unless its your safe word then you will be punished, and I promise you sweetheart, it wont be one of those little spankings that you love to beg me for”.

I swallow, Do I leave? My natural instinct of flight is causing the blood to pound through my ears. Until tonight you have been a perfect gentleman, too respectful really. So I shrug and move the heavy mass of auburn hair from the sweaty nape of my neck and walk around the corner of the hallway into your living room.

The first thing that I notice is the group of men, maybe 8 or 10, all dressed well. The smell is a potent mix of expensive cologne. The second thing that I notice is you have rearranged all your furniture, the chairs are placed around a poker table in the middle of the room. Some of the men are lounging on the chairs, one is slowly playing with the chips while his gaze runs over my body.

Did I get the wrong day, I am confused. I thought that you were setting up a scene for us, was this where we were going to play tonight? I turn, slamming my body into yours and stare at your perfectly starched collar before raising my gaze. All you do is arch a brow and look at me and I know the choice is mine. Wait and see what you have planned for me or leave. Walk back down the stairs, go home and wipe of my red lipstick?

I turn back around and smile as you lead me towards an empty chair between two of your friends. I open my lips to say hi, then remember your instructions. “Not a word love” you said.

So I say nothing, I just sit there and begin to feel foolish as you pick up the game where you had left off. I sit there as you laugh with your friends, the rumble of male voices rolling through me. Apart from the occasional admiring gaze no one acknowledges me.

Bored, I play with the edge of the table as I wait for something, anything to happen. That’s when I feel it. A cool hand finding its way onto my knee and then moving towards the index at the top of my thighs, waiting for permission to enter. I look up sharply to meet your eyes. With a nod of approval, and knowing, you go back to your conversation with the older man beside you.

The hand moves its way higher, and so I do it, I part my legs, because I have fantasised about things like this before, because your approval gives me courage. I think this other man is a builder or a carpenter, there are rough callouses on his knuckles. The roughness feels so good against the silky wetness of my pussy walls. I begin to gently rock, trying to push the pad of his palm against my clit without drawing attention to us. He chuckles softly beside me. I don’t even jump when I feel a second hand touching me from the other side, big, warm fingers interlocking and weaving to fill me, to stroke me and trace my wetness down my thighs.

You must know how your friends are touching me, does this mean that there no possessiveness in your feelings for me? Or are you filled with pride that your friends desire your girlfriend? Does it turn you on to know that I am sitting on your friends fingers while you are sitting on a winning hand?

You walk to the kitchen to get another bottle of whisky and on your way past you squeeze the back of my neck and lean down beside my ear. I can almost feel you inhaling the aroused musk that your friends have created. Surely you can see their hands up my little skirt, still moving inside of me, taking turns, massaging, tickling. Surely you can feel my body rocking through our connection on the back of my neck?

Your friends make excuses to sit beside me, some preferring to pinch my nipples, others letting their fingers stray to that naughty hole I wont let you enter.

All the while I look at you, making eye contact where I can. The lust is building inside me, but they swap seats before finding a rhythm that will make me climax. It feels orchestrated. Like you said to them “You can touch her, enjoy her, but her orgasm is mine”.

You win the game of poker, easily, which just makes me want you even more.

At the end of the evening you kick everyone out and fuck me senseless. In dirty, filthy ways while saying disgusting, taboo things to me. Pounding a pussy that is tender from the delicious assault of another man’s fingers.

THAT IS WHAT I THINK ABOUT WHEN I AM A BAD GIRL

I make myself cum, fiercely and so much harder than when I am a good girl in the sunshine.

And then I try regain my composure as I hear your key in the door. I kiss you hello and sweetly ask you how your night was while sucking the wetness off of my fingers as you turn around.

*original content

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/6ogf2b/do_i_think_about_you_when_i_touch_myself_mf