Member-only story
Do You Want To See Me Fuck Myself?
Watch me as I explore myself and enjoy the view
I want to touch myself when I get home. Wine warms my body and my senses. I haven’t felt open to touching myself and actually feeling what I’m doing. I’m aware of my bra barely continuing my tits from exploding out of the lace. I feel the thick cotton against the tops of them that brace against the restriction. I know what it feels like to give in and I haven’t spoken that language to myself in a long time.
Have you ever fucked yourself quick? Fast, hard, dirty, a fuck that helps lull you back to sleep or leave your body a base of twitching nerves? That fuck that relives your anxiety, speaks a language to your body to let go, but not slow?
I undress quick, bra tossed to the side. It’s lace edges that cup outside the cups to give an edge of straps that barely contain the flesh. I know this body but I don’t know it. I’ve allowed it to be known outside me, by his grab of my hips, dragging me back, delivering me to him.
I haven’t delivered this to myself. Burrowed my fingers in my sex to feel its wetness. To feel the moistness and how receptive it is to me delving deeper. I wonder how I’m still wet after wine. Alcohol can cause me to lose the softness, moistness, undertow warmth of what’s inside me.
