Masturbation Monday is the weekly erotic writing meme hosted by Kayla Lords. From time to time, I like to play along… (click the picture to see who else did).
If her frustration were a sound, she imagined it to be far deeper than the usual grunt. A level just beyond the cliché, for when it really ran as skin deep as hers did that morning.
She lay on her bed, naked, with the morning sun painting reflections on her bare back. An already too-hot spring morning. A too quiet flat. A too empty space next to her. Next to her. On top of her, between her thighs, underneath her, in her… She groaned, thrusting her hips into the mattress to alleviate the pressure of lust growing in her core.
One hand snaked down, and she wriggled to accommodate it between her legs. She was wet because of course she was. As of late, wet seemed to be the basis state she operated in, no thanks to the mounting vividness of her dreams. Like little dirty movies, running through her head, all interweaving as one great network of sexually frustrated threads.
Damn it. She really did miss her.
They’d joked before she left, in that casual way that had become their signature style. Casual everything. Sex, chat, giggles, jokes. “You’re not going to miss me when I’m gone.” she said, her eyes sparkling brightly. She could see her in front of her when she closed her own. That easy grin on her face. The curves of her body, the softness of her belly.
She ground her hips into her hand, letting out a moan as her fingers brushed her wanting clit. She did miss her. Goddamnit, every day that went by without her seemed to last longer and longer. Halfway around the world was the woman whose arms she’d grown so fond of, the ache of not being in them was overwhelming.
She rolled onto her back, letting her legs fall open and giving in to the pressure of missing her touch. Missing her taste. Her laugh. Her voice, the smoothness of her it like a burning whiskey.
Goddamn, girl. I do miss you. Come back soon and I’ll show you just how much.
If her frustration were a sound, she’d imagine it to be far deeper than the usual grunt. No grunt, after all, could communicate how frustrating it was to be falling in love with someone so far away.