“Are you just enjoying your fingers on your clit more than anything tonight?”

He was watching me masturbate. Asking me questions. Making me crack open my skull and lay my fantasies bare for him.

Twice, he’d told me to put something in my cunt. Twice, I did as I was told. And twice, I’d eventually taken that something out, and gone back to massaging my clitoris.

“Well,” I said, stuffing down the mounting pleasure between my legs long enough to formulate a response. “Your fingers more than mine, but yes.”

My appetites go through phases. What kinds of stimulation I enjoy changes with the wind. One day, I won’t be able to get enough things inside of me fast enough or with enough force. The next, I don’t really want anything touching me that isn’t flesh. Right now, I’m all about fingers and lips and tongues and cocks. Silicone can’t compare. So thrusting my beloved Tantus in and out of my vagina was getting on my nerves.

Except when his fingers were working my clit. Read more…