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I had just received a new book of erotic stories, and could not wait to read them. I sat - well, sprawled - in a chair and leaned back, opening the book to the first story. I read each story carefully, not wanting to miss anything, and looking for ideas to use in the stories that I write, and yes, of course, I got aroused at the explicit descriptions of each sexual act. I, well, I can't say that I was ignoring my own arousal, but I did put off doing anything about it as long as I could. When I finally felt that I must do something, I started by lightly caressing my nipples through my clothing, with only one hand so that I could continue reading. Once, I pinched myself, wincing at the pain, knowing that it would hurt both less and more if it were you pinching. I suppose that I could explain that, but... I won't. I shifted a bit in my seat as I felt myself growing wet. It always happens when I read erotic stories; I imagine myself in them, I get wet, I masturbate...

Are you wondering what I was wearing? It was just a short-sleeved night shirt that fell to the middle of my thigh. The thin cotton wasn't much of a barrier as I caressed my breasts. My breath grew short reading these stories and my hand wandered a bit, sliding across my stomach and over my thighs. I shifted again, sprawling across the chair, one leg up over the arm, and lightly touched my inner thigh. I was making myself shiver, carefully isveçbahis not touching the already wet flesh between my legs. I kept thinking about how much more I'd like it if you were touching me - not that I don't like touching myself; I just prefer to be given pleasure, led to it. And you do it so well...

Sorry, i got distracted for a minute, thinking again about your touch...

Now, where was I...Oh yes, my fingers lightly brushing along my bare thighs, pushing my night shirt up toward my waist. My nipples were still hard, and tingling everytime I turned the page...Well, you try to turn a page with only one hand, see how it works....Of course the book was brushing against them. I finished another story and felt a tiny clench inside, and my fingers brushed against my outer lips. I had not noticed them sneaking up my thigh to slip through my moisture. Yes, I was just a bit absorbed in the story.

I brought my fingers to my mouth and tasted myself, humming softly as I moved on to the next story. I decided I had waited enough; my next touch was directly in my lower lips. I slipped inside to lubricate my fingers some and spread the moisture more. It is so much nicer when I am dripping wet; so much easier for me to cum when I can feel every fold through a slick coating of my juices. Not say it isn't nice to do the same with your cum - but I must work with what I have, and you are not here. isveçbahis giriş

My fingers slid around easily to find my clit and brush across it. I lost track of the words I was reading as my eyes drifted closed and I pinched my lips together, pressing them against my clit. I set my book aside, no longer needing it, my mind now filled with the new ideas I've picked up that I'd love to try with you. I imagine you gently, but firmly, pushing me up against the wall, lifting me just enough so that you may enter me without needing to bend, your weight leaning against me and holding me up as you press your cock into me; and as I'm picturing this, I slide two fingers inside, slowly penetrating. I'm whimpering softly because I'd rather feel the thickness of you - my slim fingers just don't compare. I'm teasing myself again; I know that without another's touch, penetration will just add to me arousal and not sate it.

My fantasy continues with you then turning more forceful, pulling me around almost violently toward a chair in which you sit. You'd pull me down to sit on you lap, facing away from you, my legs spread across yours to allow for your ease of entry. I'd look up to see a mirror right before me, showing me the flush that has spread across my face and breasts, the dripping juices that leaked out around your cock.

In reality, I'm pressing harder on my clit, rubbing it frantically isveçbahis yeni giriş in my desire to cum. In my fantasy, I'd lean my head back to your shoulder and close my eyes, not wishing to watch as you demanded that I fall apart for you. And you'd force me reopen them, ordering me to watch as you thrust into me from behind and used your own fingers to tease and pinch my clit. I used my own as I would have wanted you to were you there, rubbing, pinching, twisting, lightly brushing across my wet flesh, whimpering. My hips began to jerk up to meet the strokes of my fingers. Because you were absent, I could close my eyes, not see the room I was in that almost anyone might walk into. The thought of being caught almost stopped me, almost brought me down, almost.

With my eyes closed, I was no longer in this semi-public room, no longer alone...My fingers moved across my clit faster, using more pressure as I imagined watching your hands moving upon me while your cock was so deeply inside me. I was whimpering and moaning softly as I sought my release...My hips moving so much more than you would allow in my fantasy as I began to cum...my soft cries as my orgasm filled me were barely audible, even to me. I slumped into a dazed lassitude as it faded, and brought my fingers up to taste myself yet again. I love the way I taste; not as much as the way you taste - but you weren't there to taste. I licked my fingers clean, then pulled my nightshirt back down to decently cover me. I set aside the book I had been reading to finish later. Perhaps I'd read some more when I went to bed...

Should I have waited? Did you wish to watch?