He does it for me
I’m still in the grip of substitution frenzy. Lying here in a tangled mess of duvet, sweat, discarded clothing and sex toys; my heart is still beating frantically and a microsecond behind, my clit throbs in almost-unison.
Behind my eyelids I can still see the images burned onto my retinas, memories from the weekend. His stern look as one of his hands grips my wrists behind my back, the other holding me firmly by the throat as he kisses me with desire and ownership.
His face seen from below after he pushes me down onto my knees and unbuckles his belt
His silhouette against the bright light from the window; I’m supposed to have my face buried in the mattress but I’ve sneaked a look at him over my shoulder. His eyes are closed and he exhales harshly as he spreads my arse cheeks wide and pounds into me until both our knees are weak.
The adoration in his eyes while he watches me riding him, the ecstasy on his face as I shudder and gasp and mouth his name.
I can try and recreate the sensation of his cock with my toys, but I can’t replicate his warm soft lips or the surge of enveloping love and safety when he wraps his arms around me. His mouth on my nipples and his hands running over my skin; I’d rather have those right now than my collection of self-pleasure devices.
But in his absence, I slid the glass dildo inside me to create his rhythm. I stroked my clit and pretended it was his fingers, not my own. I whispered his name as the orgasm burned through me.
I can’t be bothered to move just yet, so I’ll just rest here awhile.