He had just texted me, “In a meeting, babe. I’ll call you later.” I stared at the message for a few seconds, heart sinking, body aching. The silence in the apartment was deafening. No laughs, no warmth. Just me, this restless feeling, and the heavy throb between my thighs.

I tried to distract myself, flipping through channels, scrolling mindlessly, but my body refused to ignore its need. I craved his touch, his fingers grazing my skin, his lips tracing the curves of my body, the way he’d whisper filthy promises in my ear just before delivering every single one of them.

And then I remembered.

The video.

It was his idea, recorded during one of our wildest nights. At first, I was shy, but now I am grateful. I unlocked my phone with trembling fingers, found the folder we kept hidden, and there it was. Just seeing the thumbnail made my stomach flutter.

I lay back on the bed, pillows propping me up, legs parted with anticipation, and hit play.

There we were, he behind the camera at first, his voice deep and teasing as I stood there naked, laughing nervously. Then the scene changed, and I was moaning, bent over the edge of the bed, his hands gripping my hips. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, syncing with the quickening of my breath.

My nipples hardened as I watched him thrust into me from behind, slow and deep. I can still remember how I felt, how full I was, and how he stretched me just right. My fingers slipped between my thighs, instinctively circling my lady bits as I followed along with the rhythm of the video. I moaned, soft at first, then louder, needing more.

He flipped me over in the video, pushed my knees to my chest, and slammed into me while kissing my neck. I gasped as if I could feel it all again, the burn, the pleasure, the overwhelming sweetness of being taken like that. I moaned in real time, matching the version of me on screen, gripping the sheets with one hand while the other played faster, wetter, needier.

Then came the part where he went down on me. I zoomed into the video, showing his tongue working slowly, expertly, circling me until I screamed his name. Watching it made my body clench, and my hips bucked as the orgasm crashed into me, waves of fire and light blinding my senses.

But it wasn’t enough.

The video ended, and I lay there panting, skin flushed. But my need hadn’t been sated.

I bit my lip and slid two fingers inside myself. I imagined it was him again, whispering to me, calling me his good girl, telling me how wet I was. I arched my back, crying out as the pressure built up again, faster, harder, no holding back.

When I came this time, it felt like I was falling, trembling with every breath. My toes curled, my body went limp, and I finally let go.

Everything after that was a blur. The room smelled like sex and sweat and satisfaction. My breathing slowed; my heart was still racing, but my body felt light, as if I were floating. I pulled the covers over me, curling into the sheets that now held the scent of my release.

And for the first time that evening, I wasn’t lonely.

Downtown
+ posts