She stood next to his chair and imagined him untying her robe to expose her body. He’d touch her belly, caress her breasts, and likely pinch her left nipple, the one that drove her crazy. He would be rewarded with that delightful squeal that encouraged him to continue torturing her…gently of course. But tonight, the chair was empty.
Swinging her left leg up and over the arm of the chair, she lowered herself to feel the pressure of it against her pubic bone. Moving slowly, she gently rocked herself back and forth and slipped her hands inside her robe to fondle her breasts. She was sure to squeeze each nipple until they were hard, sending their pulse along a wire directly connected to her swelling clitoris.
Quietly, she felt the moan escape her barely parted lips, and she closed her eyes.
She wouldn’t come this way. But as she held herself up, one foot planted in the seat cushion and one firmly on the floor, her thighs taut, she imagined his scent and the feel of his warms hands touching her skin.
She opened her eyes and licked her lips, slipping two fingers into her mouth, sucking them, and retracting them — glistening with saliva.
Since she wasn’t wearing panties, it was easy to simply lift herself a bit off of the chair, inserting both fingers deep inside of herself. Letting her weight back down, she rode her fingers, feeling them wiggle within her like ribbons dancing in a windstorm.
She imagined his hand there, between her thighs, clasping her entire sex in the palm of his hand. She tried to feel his fingers, thicker than her own, stronger, owning her, hooking into her,
Right hand still squeezing her right breast, fingers pinching the nipple harder and harder, she sighed with exasperation.
It wouldn’t do.
Standing slowly, pulling her fingers out, unsatisfied , she lowered herself beside his chair.
On her knees, she closed her eyes, bit her bottom lip, and sighed.
She would just have to wait until he got home.
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