The last time I’d been alone in the house was so long ago that I couldn’t recall it. It would be an understatement to say that it was a rare occurrence these days. To make matters worse, I’d turned off the television’s incessant background chatter. The silence felt like an old friend who had been waiting for me. It welcomed me back with an embrace that was full of tantalising possibilities, quickly forgetting about my long absence.
After a few minutes of simply soaking in the rejuvenating silence, I began to wonder what I should do to make the most of this rare opportunity to be alone. The answer was fairly self-evident.
The decadence of being able to indulge myself somewhere other than our bedroom’s safe haven or behind a locked bathroom door was arousing enough in and of itself – and I hadn’t even begun yet. My clit tingled beneath the lace of my G-string, which was hidden beneath my skinny jeans. My breasts became hyper-aware, as did the hardening of my nipples, and the fact that my pussy lips felt as if they wanted to part, begging to be filled and pleasured all at once.
I still had at least an hour left, so there was no need to rush. I didn’t have to be concerned about being followed into the house because the front and back doors were both locked. The lounge curtains, on the other hand, were completely open, allowing in plenty of natural light from the street outside. Despite the fact that it wasn’t a particularly busy road, there were some passing cars. I imagined being recognised by one of them as they passed by, me sat on the sofa with my legs spread and my hands thrust down my jeans, rubbing my aching cunt with pleasure. Okay, I was definitely getting wet at this point, and I knew I was going to have to do something about it quickly.
This silent solitude was so rare that I didn’t want to share it with anyone or anything because of how precious it was to me. There are no vibrators, and there is no lube. This afternoon was entirely for me, with only my imagination, my fingers, and my arousal as company. Furthermore, sticky wet fingers were easier to conceal than a vibrator if it became necessary.
I unbuttoned my jeans and slid my fingers down between the denim and the lace underwear that was underneath them. I enjoyed the sensation of my breasts being pushed closer together, my nipples rubbing against the scratchy lace fabric of my bra, and my hand exploring the fabric-restricted area between my legs as I let my fingertips find, and gently, teasingly stroke over my labia, then circle over the now-hard nub of my clit.
Although it was frustrating, the subtle bondage effect of my knuckles being restrained by the extra tight denim wasn’t lost on me, and I actually quite enjoyed it. It has an unusual flavour, one that sexually arouses frustration that has been self-inflicted. It’s all about purposefully heightening every inch of eroticism, forcing your mind to the pinnacle of self-awareness, delaying the pinnacle of self-pleasure, and taking the long way around to reach a carefully crafted, body and mind-crashing climax.
With my other hand, I was able to free my breasts from the confines of the lace bra, allowing them to be free of the fabric while still being held in place by the wire cups beneath my t-shirt. By looking at myself through the cotton material, I could see the soft points of my nipples, and I mercilessly teased myself even more with a quick tweak to each one. Tingles like lightning flashed between them and my screaming clit, which I softly circled in between fingering the wet fabric covering my pussy with my index and middle fingers.
If anyone had passed by the open window before I noticed it, I would have thought nothing of it. Despite the hushed atmosphere, the wall clock ticked, its beat of scandalised tuts providing the soundtrack to my wanton self-pleasure.
I yearned for more.
Last but not least, some alone time | Free Sexy Masturbation Erotica
I peeled the lace away from my hot, excited pussy with my increasingly sticky fingertips, taking my time to savour each and every glorious sensation as I went. After my mini-massage had finished, I noticed that my smooth vulva was being squeezed even more tightly by the lace, and there was an exhilarating ripple of sensation every time another millimetre of sodden fabric was peeled away from my puffy, parted lips.
Pulling it to the side, my desire for satisfaction taking precedence over my patience, I scooped up the wetness that had collected at my opening and used it to lubricate my internal exploration, which was now free of the constraints of lace. I was sweating, slipping, and feeling very close to someone. As the heel of my palm rubbed joyfully against my desperately in needy clit, an orgasmic sensation swept through my body, ending at the twin points of my torturously teased nipples, triggered a surge of orgasmic sensation back through my body.
I wasn’t going to be able to keep my mouth shut for much longer. So, I forced myself to pay no attention to whether or not anyone was passing by and allowed my private fantasies to flow through my imagination, raw and unfiltered, until they reached their destination. The most shocking thoughts that have come to me from the darkest recesses of my mind, influenced by stories, movies, friends, and my own personal perversions. obscene images, filthy and disgusting thoughts
I put my saturated, finger-fucked pussy aside and used my liquid arousal to attend to my not-so-patient clitoral area instead. This was where it was going to come from, this was where my orgasm was going to be brought to life, and it wasn’t going to take too long for it to happen here. My index and middle fingers easily slipped over my erect, exposed, and straining clit, with my slippery hot pussy juice forming the perfect lube to keep everything in place. I moved my fingertips lightly over my slicked clit faster and faster, my other hand tweaking my nipples here and there to add an extra layer of stimulation to the experience. Across the top of my clitoral region, then to the side. Once again, I dipped my fingers into my hot, tight entrance and gathered even more of the plentiful lubricant before bringing my fingers back up to flick my fingertips over my nerve-ending central.
I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. I surrendered to my orgasm, completely forgetting about everything else except the last few fantasies that had accumulated in my head and the sensation of my fingertips slipping with incredible speed over my slick clitoris, which I had just experienced. I didn’t scream out loud, though – I guess I’ve become too well-trained by house-sharing to do so now. In the process, I managed to leave a wet patch on the sofa, which was difficult to explain later, especially when coupled with such a smug, self-satisfied smile on my face.
Humbling, power, and control, as well as abuse and degradation, are all things that must never be allowed to exist.
