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It’s great, don’t get me wrong, just not enough. I think what’s keeping me from reaching my destination is this gnawing emptiness that I yearn to fill. More specifically, to fill it with Mr. Big, as that’s what my nose has been smelling. Unfortunately, the closest I can get at the moment is my fingers.
I let the remote join the thong in my left hand to free up my right digits. Pretending they’re The Russian’s, I lick and suck my index and middle finger, then slide my hand into my still-vibrating panties and locate my entrance.
Fuuuck.
This is exactly what the masturbation doctor ordered. Now that the feeling of fullness is there, the orgasm rushes forth at the speed of sound.
Also, the images. Oh, the images… The Russian is pounding into me, hard, his pelvis performing tricks that only a ballet dancer is capable of.
Another moan escapes my lips, one that might be a tad too loud. Oops. I muffle the next moan with the dance belt.
Wait a sec.
Did I just hear a clack?
Nah. Must be my jaw clicking from holding in a scream.
I’m almost there. Just a few seconds more. I take a deep whiff of the thong, inhaling the arousing aroma like I’m underwater and it’s my oxygen.
I’m almost there.
So close.
Just a little bit more—
Now the sound is unmistakable.
The hinges on the dressing room door squeak.
My eyes fly open.
Before I can remove my fingers from inside myself and create some distance between the dance belt and my nose, a man steps into the dressing room.
A man who’s starred in all of my recent fantasies.
The Russian himself.
