The house was cloaked in darkness, broken only by the harsh blue glare of my phone. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, painting molten stripes across my naked thighs as I sprawled across the sofa, left hand gripping my phone until the plastic bit into my palm, right hand hovering over my belly, skin dewy with sweat. The hush was pierced by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the gentle creak of cushions as I shifted, sending a ripple through the well-worn upholstery and reminding me of my shameless exposure.
On the screen, porn flared to life, bright and merciless. A tall, bronze-skinned goddess knelt between her pink-haired lover’s parted legs: ivory thighs trembling, every detail illuminated. The tattooed woman’s mouth pressed in, tongue flat and slick, grinding torturous circles across her lover’s glistening folds, lust shining in every greedy movement. Her hands forced her partner’s knees higher, stretching her open for the camera so every quiver of her swollen entrance was caught in merciless focus.
As their bodies writhed, a tremor rolled through me. My right hand burrowed beneath my waistband, fingers instantly finding my glossy wetness, slick as honey. Gathering it up, I pressed to my throbbing peak, circling with greedy pressure, electric sparks ricocheting from groin to spine. The air felt cooler where sweat prickled in the hollow of my knee, each shift making the sofa frame moan beneath me.
The camera panned in. The dark-haired woman’s cheeks shone, streaked with arousal, as her tongue worked in slow, hungry sweeps, scooping up every drop that spilt from her lover’s open core. She licked, sucked, and devoured, filthy wet sounds spilling from my speaker, each sticky slurp yanking a groan from deep in my chest. My skin tingled at the depravity, nipples tautening almost painfully as I rocked into my greedy palm, knuckles grinding against my swollen bud.
Her left hand slid between her thighs onscreen, the gloss of fingers disappearing between lips as she circled her button, grinding until her hips jerked to the rhythm. I responded, matching her pace, my breath shallowed, a jagged gasp breaking free before I could censor it.
“God…” I murmured, voice blending into the distant hum of the house, half plea, half excuse. Each swirl of my hand sent another pulse through me; the fabric squeaked beneath my hips.
The screen now was all moans, sticky slaps, and sharp cries, a dance of bodies locked in obscene sync. The tattooed lover’s jaw worked, tongue lashing in frantic circles. Her voice vibrated into the freckled girl’s flushed sex while her fingers plunged feverishly, thumb thrumming her clit. My hand mirrored hers, piston-deep in my own body, thumb thrashing over my sensitive nub as my left hand trembled, the phone rattling against my ribs with every shudder.
My environment closed in around me; the blinds fluttered with the passing breeze, beads of sweat rolling down between my breasts and cooling in the open air, while the room was tangled with the heavy, musky scent of arousal. My nails scraped the sofa’s fabric, shoulders shifting as springs groaned beneath the building pressure. The sticky friction of my hand made my whole lower half shudder.
“Yeah...please, don’t stop…” I whispered, half to the screen, half to myself, my voice trembling with the edge I balanced on.
The women on my phone surged toward release, a crash of raw voices and flashing muscles. The pink-haired girl sobbed, gnawing at the sheet, face twisted with bliss as her partner’s lips drew her tight and wild.
“Ah, oh, fuck, right there,” broke from my lips, each word splintering with desperation as my pleasure burned white-hot.
Climax crashed through me, relentless and searing. I arched, toes digging into the upholstery, a guttural, wordless cry tearing loose as every nerve went electric. My entrance pulsed around my plunging fingers, hot release spilling over my hand, slicking my thighs and soaking the cushions, mingling with the sea-breeze chill and the heat of my skin. The creak of the sofa, the splay of moonlight on my belly, the faint trace of detergent from a pillow beneath my head, every detail anchored me as pleasure wracked my body.
Even as release dragged through me, aftershocks rippled outward, my muscles fluttered, thighs trembling, sticky hand lingering between my legs, greedy for every sting of oversensitivity. “
Ah…oh god…yeah...” tumbled out unchecked, raw satisfaction thickening every shaky breath.
Onscreen, the woman spasmed through their own wild climaxes: pink-haired thighs clamped around her lover’s head, juices gushing, the tattooed goddess moaning into silky folds, her body bucking as nectar spilt from her buried fingers. The camera stayed close as they collapsed in a panting knot of limbs, faces shining, skin slick and trembling.
Heat drained from my body. The phone slipped from my lax grip, clattering to the carpet as its light painted a fractured crescent on the wall. I lay slack, thighs sprawled open, sweat cooling in the crosshatch of moonbeams. My ears filled with the hush of the afterglow, just the sigh of fabric under my hips, the heartbeat in my chest, and the pungent, animal scent of what I’d done hanging on the air. I let myself drift, contented murmurs ghosting from parted lips, eyes slipping closed as satisfaction, deep, carnal, and complete, claimed me whole.
And I knew: before long, the hunger would return, the sofa would creak again, and I’d be right back in this charged oblivion, owned by both my desire and the dark, secret pulse of the night.
