I couldn’t even recall the last time I had gone home by myself vietsub japanese sex movies. To say it was unusual in today’s world would be an understatement. Even the television’s constant background chatter was turned off. It was as though the silence was an old acquaintance. It readily forgave my extended absence and embraced me with tantalizing possibilities when I returned.
After spending a few minutes just taking in the calming solitude, I pondered what I could do to make the most of this time by myself. The solution was fairly simple.
Even before I started, the extravagance of being able to indulge myself in public rather than in the privacy of our bedroom or behind a shut bathroom door was highly appealing. Under the lace of my G-string and my skinny jeans, I felt a tingling sensation in my clit. I became very aware of my breasts, my nipples stiffening, and how my pussy lips felt as though they were begging to be filled and enjoyed.
No need to rush; I still had at least an hour left. I didn’t have to worry about being walked in on because both the front and back doors were locked. However, the lounge’s drapes were flung open, allowing sunshine to pour in from the nearby street. It wasn’t a particularly busy road, but there were sporadic onlookers. As I sat on the sofa with my legs spread and my hands massaging my hurting cunt, I envisioned being seen by one of them walking by. Okay, I was obviously getting wet by this point, and I was undoubtedly going to have to take action.
I had the impression that I didn’t want to share this quiet solitude because it was so uncommon. No lubricant, no vibrators. This afternoon was all about me, alone myself with my thoughts, my hands, and my desire. Furthermore, sticky wet fingers were simpler to conceal than a vibrator if necessary.
My fingers went down between the denim and my lace panties as I unbuttoned my jeans. I enjoyed the sensation of my breasts being pushed closer together and my nipples rubbing against the scratchy lace fabric of my bra as my hand explored the fabric-restricted area between my legs. I let my fingertips find, and gently, teasingly stroke over my labia, then circle over the now-hard nub of my clit.
Even though it was annoying, I wasn’t blind to the subtle bondage impact that the extra-tight denim was having on my knuckles; in fact, I was quite liking it. It has an odd flavor that makes self-inflicted frustration sexually attractive. A meticulously planned, body- and mind-crushing climax is reached by intentionally enhancing every aspect of eroticism, pushing your mind to the limit of self-awareness, avoiding the zenith of self-pleasure, and taking the scenic way.
My breasts were released from the lace bra’s restrictions with the help of my other hand, but they were still supported by the wire cups under my t-shirt. I brutally tormented myself by giving each of my nipples a brief tweak because I could see the delicate tips of them through the cotton cloth. Between them and my screaming clit, which I still lightly circled between fingering the moist fabric covering my pussy, tingles like lightning flashed.
I hadn’t seen if someone had passed by the open window yet. The sound of the wall clock’s scandalized ticking provided the background music for my rapacious self-pleasure.
I carefully used my increasingly sticky hands to take the lace from my hot, ecstatic pussy so that I could enjoy every delicious sensation. There was an incredible wave of sensation every time another millimeter of soggy cloth detached from my puffy, parted lips because my mini-massage had caused the lace to push even more tightly than normal into my smooth vulva.
I knew I couldn’t keep quiet for much longer. I forced myself to ignore whether anyone was passing by, prayed for the best, and allowed my private desires to freely and unrestrainedly run through my imagination. The most surprising ideas that have sprung from my deepest thoughts, have been influenced by novels, movies, friends, and my own perversions. Contemptible ideas, scandalous pictures, humiliations, abuse, and domination, as well as all the things that should never exist.
I ignored my finger-fucked, drenched pussy and attended to my impatient clit with my liquid excitement. This is where it was going to start, this is where my orgasm would start, and it wasn’t going to take long. My hot, slick pussy fluid served as the ideal lubricant as my index and middle fingers effortlessly slipped over my erect, exposed, and clenching clit. My other hand tweaked my nipples here and there to offer a further layer of stimulation as I stroked my fingertips quickly over my slicked clit. then to the side, over the top of my clit.
I reached my breaking point. I gave myself over to my climax, forgetting everything else but the last few fantasies that had been clogging up my head and the sensation of my fingertips moving incredibly quickly over my slippery clitoris. I believe being house shared now has me too well-trained because I still didn’t cry out loud. But I did leave a wet spot on the couch, which was subsequently challenging to explain—especially with such a smug, contented look.
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