Chanel 17 - Sex Stories

Chanel 17

... attempting to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. I shift again. Jesus this sucks. The hand on my stomach comes alive caressing the cotton against my skin. Eugene’s hands come to mind and my fingertips glide slightly lower. I imagine he stayed and wanted to please me. I move my arm from above my head and hook both my thumbs around the fabric against my hips. With my eyes still closed, I slowly pull my panties down my soft thighs. When I’m naked from the waist down, I open my legs wide under the covers and drag my fingers back up the inside of my thighs. I feign hesitancy, then gently graze my finger against my already wet folds. I let out a small gasp and touch myself again. Eugene’s fingers, my fingers, part my lips and press against my clit. I moan and grab my breast with my free hand and squeeze. Eugene fondles my clit with the slightest pressure and slides down to caress lower. Around and around, his finger circles my opening, making no headway into my tight hole. The base of my finger connects with my clit while I tease my inviting, slick cunt, wishing it weren’t my own hand. I imagine him breathing in my ear, driving me mad with need. He adds another finger touching me everywhere and I gasp. I press against my clit and glide down making myself more wet. He’d want to feel it. He would want to know how wet he was making me, and would hold off no longer. The tip of my middle finger presses against my firm opening and forces it’s way in. I groan and slide my finger ...

... inside. My muscles grip my extremity tightly, glad to have some form of friction. I start a rhythm, in and out, with excruciating slowness. The sensation in my groin sparks like a fire and I go faster. And suddenly, the face behind my lids changes from a dimpled smile to a darker, sexier image. Ethan’s face flickers through my mind and I moan loudly. I recall the first time I realized how green his eyes were, his face between my thighs, his dark hair in a graceful disarray. I remember how he bent me over the kitchen island and fucked me until I screamed his name. I remember recognizing the thickness of his arms and shoulders, his height, how substantial he felt when he held me...safe. I rub myself harder. Thinking of his lips on my skin, the lust in his eyes, the way he groaned every time he was deep inside me. The deepest. The circular motion of my fingers is unbearably fast, and when I imagine him cumming furiously inside me, calling my name, I explode. “Ethaaan,” I moan and arch my back as I feel my muscles pulse around his absent cock, aching, throbbing, begging for him. The waves of my orgasm lap at my insides, sweet sensitive relief. And when I come down, I exhale harshly and relax into my mattress. I can’t move. I don’t want to. My body exhausted, my hand resting on my thigh, I don’t bother opening my eyes. I do find the energy to shake my head though. At myself. I’m completely ridiculous. *** I leave the store with the newly purchased gift and hop in my car. I got off the ...