It’s mid-afternoon, the middle of August. As I lie on my back next to the sleeping man beside me, the air from the fan sweeps over our faces. Bodies relaxed and warm under the covers, we bask in the much-needed rest from the late night before.

Looking over at the lover by my side, I watch the rise and fall of his chest beneath the covers. He’s fallen asleep as he does with ease each time, an ability I’m slightly envious of. I have dozed in the half hour or so we’ve been beneath the sheets, now staring at the ceiling in a state of blissful relaxation. I’m aware, awake, and increasingly aroused. 

The itch of desire has lingered in the background most of the day, it has become heavier, deeper, in this tranqued state. I revel in the feeling of the familiar coil of need that undulates low in my abdomen. Warmth and arousal unfurl throughout my body and prime my imagination with impure fantasies. 

Breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out. 

Even breathing becomes a suggestion in and of its own. I’m tempted to wake him and get the satisfaction I crave. 

I’ve been teased all week, choosing to deny my own orgasms each time we make love. He’s tried over and over to make me cum; he’s got a talented mouth and tongue that can send me in minutes; sheets soaked. I'm lucky to have a man who’s got an oral fixation... for me. As a bit of a masochist, I enjoy halting him right as the waves of pleasure are about to drown us both. Being turned on only turns me on more. Being frustrated further fuels my fire.

Still lying at his side, I resist the overpowering urge to roll over onto him and take what I want. It would be selfish, wouldn’t it? Restraining myself from acting on the force of sexual energy only redirects its attention to my pussy; now throbbing with longing. 

I need stimulation. I can’t stand being in this state and not feeling something. As subtly as possible, I slip my hand down underneath the covers and cup my pussy over my thin cotton shorts. Pressing my cupped palm against myself and potentiating the coiling arousal down below, I feel myself pulsing inside and out. 

Extending an index finger, I delicately stroke my clit up and down. It’s barely a tickle, but it’s something. Driving myself crazy only gives me more ideas for later…

It feels naughty, touching myself while lying right beside him. Looking over, I steal a glance at him. I study his profile and focus on his lips. Another trigger for the erotic places my mind visits. I can almost feel his tongue between my legs, parting my folds, kissing and lapping the sweet spot.

Riled up, I let my middle finger join in on the fun; I apply modest pressure and repeatedly nudge my clit gently, teasing. The bundle of nerves responds readily, sending pleasure through my lower belly. I dip a finger further down to test the waters. As expected, sticky wetness coats my fingertip. I wish he could feel how wet I am; he’d be inclined to dive right in.

Taking my free hand, I gently reach up and grasp his hair, lightly stroking his scalp. My arm twitches as the urge to clutch his hair tightly in my fingers, to pull his head back, and to straddle his face overwhelms me. I know he probably wouldn’t mind being woken up in such a way, but I refrain from disturbing the peace and return to provoking my own dilemma. 

Knowing my own limits, I slow my fingers from toying with myself and go back to feathering my clit with one fingertip, this time in circles. I know I will continue this game later. I also knew this was just a tease when I started.  I back down from crossing the threshold of release. The mental and the physical build-up is quickly ramping up to a point of no return.

Exploring the edges of my mind and body’s control is a tantalizing exercise in intensifying the erotic energy I love to indulge in. There can only be more to come later.