Eight weeks… It’s been eight weeks since you had been inside her, eight weeks since you had her ankles over your shoulders, eight weeks since you had last wrapped your hand tightly around her neck. Nearly every night now, you take your cock in your hand and remembered the last time you made her cum on your cock, the last time you buried yourself in her ass, wrapping her hair around your hand and pulling her back like a toy you would use to fuck yourself.
And you were fucking stressed out. As an essential worker, you still had to go out in public doing your job that had regulations for social distancing but each job had it’s needs where being six feet apart from your coworkers was not practical, like being in that fucking truck with them. Your job prevents you from having a convenient bathroom during the day but it’s even less convenient since you can’t rely on gas stations and restaurants to allow you to come in and pee when you grabbed a drink or some food. It’s fucking scary and she’s not making it any easier on you by requiring you to shelter apart. You get it. She is trying to follow rules, which is surprising for a brat, but what the fuck ever. You can’t help it during these especially dark moments when what you need the most is to work out these frustrations. And who better to do that with than the one who allows you to fuck her as roughly as you need to till you feel better? You take your hardening cock in your hand and close your eyes, fantasizing about meeting your own needs.