Red Sweatshirt

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On her, the hoodie is oversized. The soft red fabric still smells like his soap and warm skin.

She has drawn her knees up inside the sweatshirt, her bare legs pressed against her naked breasts, and the cloth wraps around her like an embrace. She rests her face in the crook of her right arm, imagining his touch as her cheek brushes against the sleeve.

She nestles deeper into the pillows. With her left hand, she runs her fingers over the curve of her bare bottom, reaching down to touch her inner thigh and the smooth, hairless lips of her vagina. Her probing brings a flutter of excitement that reaches up into her abdomen, and her pussy floods with juices.

His hands, she recalls, are strong and well made, with nails neatly trimmed. The only calluses run in an arc across each palm, the price of lifting weights during his three weekly visits to the gym. She remembers the way his hands feel in hers, the way they taste when she kisses them. Now she imagines that the hand touching her pussy is not her hand, illegal bahis but his; the fingers that push into the hot wetness are his fingers.

She draws her knees out of the sweatshirt and opens her legs. She is clean-shaven, except for a little patch of brown just where the lines of her body come together to form that perfect V. With two fingers, she draws back her labia so that the clit is exposed. The hot finger she brushes against her clit is already damp with her juices. It feels like his tongue.

With her eyes closed, she imagines him kissing the intimate folds between her legs. She grabs the front of the sweatshirt and pulls the fabric taut; the soft cotton glides across her stiff nipples, making her moan. She loves it when he pinches her nipples. She reaches up under the red fabric to roll her nipples between her fingers.

Again, she thinks of his hot tongue—how he would tease her with soft quick flicks across her clit, how he would glide the across the full length of her slit. She tips her hips illegal bahis siteleri back, imagining that he is sliding his mouth between her slick folds, driving his tongue deep. Her fingers mimic the invisible tongue. She pushes two fingers inside her cunt and then brings them up to put them in her mouth. She is dripping wet and salty.

She wants him inside her so bad that she feels dizzy, and her pussy throbs. Pulling the sweatshirt over her head, she sits naked in the early morning light. Her breasts are perfectly round and creamy white, with pink, responsive nipples that stand up at the slightest provocation. She thinks of their last time together—he had sucked her until she thought she would explode. She remembered how his cock slid between her tits, and how hot his cum felt upon her throat.

She needs something between her legs. She lies back on the pillows with her head on his sweatshirt and her knees pulled back. She is fully exposed and dripping. She wants him to see her nakedness and her heat.

She canlı bahis siteleri masturbates with two hands, plunging two fingers of her left hand into her pussy while rubbing her clit with her right. She turns her head and breathes deeply, the smell of the sweatshirt mingling with the scent of her own shampoo. It brings a flood of memory—his smile, his brown eyes, his hungry kisses, the strength of his arms.

Pushing in a third finger, she stretches her vagina even more. She imagines that her hand has become his cock, filling her. She fucks herself deeply, her hips grinding; she is hardly aware that she is moaning, then screaming.

The orgasm breaks in waves over her body—hot spasms that take her from head to toe. She has stopped breathing. Quick strokes on her clit keep the wave crashing, and she can feel her cunt pulsing as it contracts over her fingers.

At last she can breath again. Her legs collapse on the bed, and she is still, listening to the pounding of her own heart. She places one hand over her breasts, another over her pussy, and waits for the throbbing to subside.

She is holding the sweatshirt close when she falls back to sleep. In her dreams, she is already in his arms, still wet from wanting her man.

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