Page 11 of Sticky Fingers
It’s captivating now because it reminds me of that mystery man.
The hand that isn’t holding the wine glass glides down my stomach, underneath the band of my thong, and comes to rest between my thighs. Holding my breath, I find my clit and gasp at that first initial touch, my heart skipping a beat.
Circling my clit, I start to replay the scenario from before in my mind, except my brain has replaced the woman he was fucking with…me. I see him pounding into me, his hard cock sliding in and out of my wet pussy, and I can almost hear my moans as he skillfully pushes me to the point of no return.
I moan. God, just the thought of him taking control of my body makes me so wet and has my hips writhing uncontrollably on the bed.
I set the wine glass down on the side dresser, just so that I don’t spill the wine all over the bed. These sheets are expensive, you know? And so is the wine.
Scooting back slightly on the bed, I place my feet on the edge and spread my legs so the painting is still within view. I slide my hand back under my thong, my fingers caressing my pussy lips gently.
The longer I stare at the painting, the more I see that mystery man fucking my brains out. Swear to God, I can actually feel his hands gripping my hips and his cock deep inside me.
Exhaling sharply, I feel an impending orgasm building inside me. The pressure builds fast, making my body burn from the inside out.
With each thrust he gives in my imagination, the more I quiver and moan. He starts to thrust harder, and my hips respond, pushing against my hand.
Finally, I explode.
I moan in pleasure as stars dance behind my closed eyes, a sweet burning feeling crawling under my skin.
I lay on the bed panting; my body is shaking uncontrollably, and my skin feels electric as it vibrates against the sheets.
Holy shit. I’ve never managed an orgasm that fucking intense on my own. Whoever that guy is, he wasn’t even here, and he was that good.
If that’s the reaction I get just by picturing him as I come…then I have no doubt he would have set off a nuclear explosion inside me had any of this been real.
I don’t move for what feels like hours, doing nothing but wishing I could have a go at the delicious man. Likely, he’ll be the focus of my orgasms for the next few days. Or weeks.
I sigh and get off the bed eventually. I need a bath to clear my mind.
See, as great as it would be to have that man in my bed for a night, there is no way I’ll ever run into him again.
And that’s a damn shame.
