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He said my name right before he came. I know I didn’t imagine that.
He was thinking about me when he was doing all that.
Despite my good intentions, my brain fixates on the scene, reviewing every detail of what I saw and reliving it again and again. The repeated fantasy does nothing to clear my mind. It only turns me on even more. After a few minutes, I’m so aroused that I can’t lie still.
My body is pulsing. My skin is flushed all the way down to my stomach. I know what I need. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex. I haven’t even masturbated since all the shit blew up with my dad, and I’m aching for a release.
I get up to lock my bedroom door before I climb back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling, panting.
I imagine Arthur in the shower again, his hand pumping, his ass clenching. I hear him moaning out my name.
I make a little whimpering sound and rub my breasts over my top. Imagine he’s the one touching me.
My nipples peak under my bra. The garment feels too binding, so I reach under my shirt to unhook it and then pull it off. I don’t get naked when I do this. It makes me too self-conscious. But the bra has to come off.
I touch myself more, lingering on my breasts before sliding a hand down to tuck under the waist of my pants so I can rub my clit over my underwear.
I hear myself making a sensual groan as the pleasure coils tightly. My hand speeds up, rubbing hard circles at my clit as my other hand tweaks one of my nipples.
It feels so good I arch my spine and squirm my hips. I lick my lips and toss my head. The pleasure is intense and visceral, but it tightens endlessly without releasing. I give a ragged sob as I start to pump my hips, but it’s still not enough.
When the erotic pressure becomes torturous, I turn over onto my stomach. Adjust my knees to lift my butt higher than the rest of me.
For some reason I’ve never understood, I can’t seem to bring myself to orgasm unless my ass is in the air.
I used to be ashamed—turning out all the lights, locking the door, panting silently against the pillow as I’d bring myself to a hot, fast climax. But I don’t feel ashamed anymore. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so turned on.
I don’t touch myself immediately, just stay poised like that, my butt raised up, my cheek against the duvet, and visualize Arthur saying my name as he comes.
With a stifled whimper, I finally can’t resist any longer. I slide my hand up between my legs and under my pants and panties until I can feel how wet I am. I’m so into it that I push my clothes halfway down my legs so my butt is bare, hit deliciously by the cool air of the room. I thrust with my middle finger until it feels so good I can’t hold back the little grunts forcing their way out of my throat.
Then I give my clit a series of little slaps with my other hand, rocking my body with each impact, until I’m sobbing into the bedding with the intensity of my orgasm.
I shift my slaps to rubbing until I come again, not quite as hard as before but just as satisfying.
I stay in position until the spasms completely fade. Then I flop over onto my side, gasping and shuddering as my body relaxes completely.
When I’ve recovered, I giggle a little as I pull up my pants and panties. I really can’t believe I just did that. It’s not like me at all.
But it felt so good, and I’m so relaxed now I’m tempted to pull the covers up and go to sleep.
I’m on the verge of drifting off when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I sit up abruptly in a sudden panic even though I rationally know no one could possibly know what I just did.
“Scarlett?” It’s Arthur. “Are you in there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” My voice cracks. It still sounds like I’m breathless.
“Are you okay?” He’s genuinely concerned now.
“I’m fine!”
“You don’t sound fine. What’s going on? Can I come in?”
“Yes. Of course.” I reply that because it’s the only way for me to sound normal.
The doorknob turns a few times.
Then I remember I locked it.
