Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down my temple, and I swipe it away with my free hand. My breasts feel heavy, nipples peaking against the thin fabric of my T-shirt, aching for friction.
I pinch one through the cloth, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger, and the dual sensations make stars burst behind my eyelids. “Oh god,” I breathe out. The coil in my core winds tighter, every thrust of my fingers pushing me closer to the edge.
I add a third finger, stretching myself further, imagining it’s something thicker, something that could truly satisfy this insatiable hunger.
My thumb finds my clit again, rubbing in firm circles that make my thighs quiver. The sounds of my fingers moving in and out fill the room, mingling with my panting breaths and the occasional whimper.
My pussy flutters around my digits, the pressure building to an unbearable peak. I curl my fingers inside, brushing that sensitive spot deep within, and it rips a cry from my throat.
The orgasm crashes over me, my body seizing as waves of pleasure ripple through every nerve. My walls clamp downon my fingers, pulsing rhythmically, and hot slick gushes out, soaking my hand and the cushion beneath me. I ride it out, hips grinding against my palm, drawing out every last shudder until I’m left trembling and gasping for air.
My chest heaves, and I pull my fingers free with a wet pop, staring at them glistening in the dim light of the living room.
But the relief is fleeting. Almost immediately, the ache returns, sharper than before, a hollow emptiness that makes my skin crawl with need. I whine in frustration, wiping my hand on my thigh before reaching down again.
My clit is still throbbing, hypersensitive, but I can’t stop. I need to come again, to fill that void gnawing at me from the inside. This time, I strip off my T-shirt, the fabric clinging to my sweat-dampened skin before I toss it aside. My breasts spill free, nipples hard and begging for attention.
I cup one breast, squeezing it roughly while my other hand dives back between my legs. My fingers plunge into my soaked pussy without hesitation, the intrusion welcome and yet not nearly enough.
I fuck myself harder, the sofa creaking under my movements as I thrust up to meet each stroke. My thumb presses down on my clit. Heat floods my veins, my body temperature spiking as the Omega instincts take over, demanding release after release.
Memories flicker unbidden through my mind, fragments of fantasies I’ve suppressed for years. Strong hands pinning me down, a thick cock stretching me wide, knotting deep inside to lock us together. I moan at the thought, my pace faltering for a second before I redouble my efforts.
My free hand tweaks my nipple, pulling and twisting until it borders on pain, the sting blending with the pleasure in a way that makes my toes curl.
The second climax builds faster, my body already primed and desperate. I spread my legs as wide as the sofa allows, onefoot digging into the armrest for leverage. My fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot over and over, while my palm slaps lightly against my mound with each thrust. Slick drips down my ass, pooling on the cushion, and the scent of my arousal hangs heavy in the air, musky and intoxicating even to me.
“Please,” I gasp to the empty room, not sure what I’m begging for. More? Relief? It doesn’t matter. The orgasm hits me hard, my back bowing off the cushions as my pussy spasms around my fingers.
I cry out, the sound raw and animalistic, my entire body shaking with the force of it. Juices squirt out around my hand, wetting my thighs and the sofa further, but I don’t care. I keep moving, milking every pulse until I’m spent, collapsing back with a sob.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, born of frustration and overwhelming sensation.
My hand falls away, but the heat doesn’t fade. If anything, it’s worse now, a ravenous beast clawing at my insides.
I roll onto my side, curling into the damp cushion, but the position only presses my thighs together, reigniting the fire.
With a groan, I push myself up, straddling the arm of the sofa for a different angle. The fabric rubs against my sensitive clit as I position myself, and I grind down instinctively, seeking friction.
My hands brace on the back of the sofa, and I rock my hips, sliding my pussy along the edge. It’s rough, not ideal, but the pressure is divine, sending sparks up my spine. I reach back, fingers finding my entrance again, and I push them in deep while continuing to hump the armrest. The stimulation makes my head spin, my breaths coming in short, desperate bursts.
Thistle has long since fled the room, probably sensing the intensity of my distress, but I’m beyond caring. All that exists is the slick heat between my legs, the way my body betrays me with every needy twitch.
I imagine an Alpha’s mouth on me, tongue lapping at my folds, teeth grazing my clit. The fantasy fuels me, my movements growing erratic as I chase the third release.
I slip one hand up to my throat, pressing lightly, feeling my pulse thunder under my fingers. The slight restriction heightens everything, making the pleasure more intense. My pussy clenches around my invading fingers, the walls fluttering as I near the brink. I grind harder against the sofa arm, the friction building a delicious burn on my clit.
The orgasm rips through me without warning, fiercer than the last. My vision whites out and I scream, the sound echoing off the walls. My body convulses, thighs clamping around the armrest as waves of ecstasy crash over me. Slick floods out to drench the fabric beneath me, and I collapse forward, forehead resting on the back of the sofa as aftershocks ripple through my limbs.
Panting, I slide down to the cushions again, limp and exhausted. But even now, as I lie there in a puddle of my own making, the heat simmers beneath my skin, unsatisfied and unrelenting.
I touch myself lightly, just a brush of fingers over my swollen folds, and a fresh jolt of need spears through me. Tears stream down my face now, as I realize this won’t end anytime soon.
I curl up, hugging my knees to my chest, but the position traps the heat inside, making it worse. My hand drifts down once more, almost against my will, circling my clit with feather-light touches that build the ache anew. The cycle starts again, fingers dipping into my dripping pussy, hips lifting in rhythm. Each orgasm leaves me more drained, more desperate, my mind fracturing under the onslaught of sensation.
By the fourth time, my movements are sluggish, my body wrung out, but the need persists. I lie flat on my back, legs splayed wide, and fuck myself with slow, deep thrusts, savoringthe stretch even as exhaustion pulls at me. My free hand roams my body, pinching nipples, tracing ribs, anything to amplify the pleasure. The climax comes softer this time, a rolling wave that leaves me quivering and whimpering, but still, it’s not enough.
I lose track after that, the line between one release and the next blurring into a haze of slick and sweat and endless craving.
