I'm consumed by thoughts of you, my skin b*rning with the memory of your fingertips trailing across it. I can almost smell the musky cologne at your neck, taste the salt on your collarbone. Between my thighs, I throb with emptiness, desperate for the weight of you pressing me open, the thick ridge of your c*ck stretching me until I gasp your name.

In desperation, I reach for the silicone dildo with its veined shaft and flared head, the one that reminds me so much of you. I close my eyes, the cool material warming against my slick entrance as I ease it inside inch by delicious inch. My fingers find my swollen clit, circling with deliberate pressure—first clockwise, then counterclockwise—just how you discovered makes me shudder.

It starts as a gentle ache, that familiar slow-gathering pulse deep in my belly, but within seconds it swells, rushing outward in hot, insistent waves. My muscles tense and flutter, the thick, slick length buried inside me sending sparks with every micro-movement. I rock my hips, greedily grinding down, milking the silicone for sensation, pushing myself closer to the edge until my legs tremble and my toes curl into the sheets.

Each drag and push stirs my insides, the fullness tinged with memory, every vein and ridge echoing the way your body pressed into mine. I tip my head back, hair fanning against the pillow, and squeeze my eyes shut, painting the inside of my eyelids with the image of your face—eyes dark with need, lips parted in concentration as you watch me come undone. The tension builds, sharper and sharper, spreading from my core to my fingertips, racing up my spine until I can barely breathe.

I can hear my own panting become frantic, almost sobbing with need, desperate for the release I know is coming, the climax spinning tighter and tighter with every circle of my fingers. My inner walls clamp down, pulsing around the dildo, and I arch, nearly breaking in half with want. I imagine you there, your hands gripping my hips, your mouth at my ear, urging me to let go, to give you everything.

When I finally shatter, the fantasy of you explodes through me—your c*ck pulsing violently, flooding me with hot c*m that marks me from the inside out, claiming every quivering inch of my desperate p*ssy as it convulses around you, milking you dry until I'm filled with the raw, primal satisfaction of being utterly, c*mpletely filled.

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