I’m trying out a new series devoted to my wide array of kinky, lurid fantasies.

Each blog post in the Fantasy series will delve into a scene straight out of my filthy, depraved mind and will sometimes include eroticized content that some may find upsetting. Watch out for content warnings, which I will use liberally.

Today’s fantasy features nipple play, manual sex, and vaginal fingering. Kink rating is low.

We’re side by side on the couch, watching a movie, and I’m wearing a baggy T-shirt and panties. My panties are soaked through and I’m squirming in my seat, the leather squeaking under me, because my partner’s arm is around my shoulders and their hand on my breast.

My nipples are sensitive, especially through fabric, and my partner knows it. With enough groping and toying, enough flicking and pinching, it’s almost painful how good it feels. My nipple has long since grown hard and tight, and even when it’s not being played with it still scrapes against the cotton of my shirt as I move, arching my back and pushing out my tits to get my partner to touch me more.

Not that they care. They’re not even looking at me, still staring at the TV screen like it’s the best movie they’ve ever watched. I know it’s a farce put on for my satisfaction, that they’re paying as much attention to me as I am to them, but I appreciate it all the same. I feel free to loosen the reins of my own self-control, to stop worrying about what my face is doing or my body is doing, and to just let it happen.

But only one nipple is getting attention. The other is soft, not yet interested, and I want to change that. So I touch it myself, fingers finding it through my shirt and circling, circling, until it finally wakes up and forms a little peak as hard and tight and sensitive as the one that’s being twisted gently between my partner’s fingers.

I arch more insistently and move my hips in the tiniest, tilting-up-and-down motion so that I can feel the ache of my arousal more strongly. With every downward tilt, my cunt gives a little clench and my clit pulses. I don’t care what sounds I’m making. I only care about how fucking exquisite I feel.

Then my partner abandons my nipple. Their hand slides over the line of my shoulder, like they’re retreating, or like they’re about to take over playing with my other nipple. I let go, still arching, ready.

But they don’t touch my nipple. They bypass it completely, stroking down my side and making a sudden turn at my hip, slipping under the waistband of my panties.

My legs are already wide open, but I spread them wider. My partner’s fingers find my cunt first and dip inside for just a moment, just long enough to get the tips wet before they find my clit and rub.

My clit is fussy. It’s always fucking fussy, and usual I’d rather just be fucked. More insistent arching and hip tilting, and I get exactly what I want: two fingers thrusting shallowly inside me, my cunt nice and slick and ready for them.

The pace is slow and soft, more of a leisurely rocking than a fucking, but that’s what I like best. It drives me wild, especially when my panties are still on, forcing my partner to mash the heel of their hand up against my vulva.

Soon, I’m not really sitting anymore. I’m slouched so far down on the sofa, grinding up into the pressure, but I’m past caring. I’m impatient at the best of times, but sex makes me worse. I want to come.

I cover my partner’s hand with mine through the panties and push the heel of their hand harder into my clit, so hard they have to stop thrusting and just let me use them to get what I need. I rock between the shallow penetration and the clitoral pressure until my legs kick out straight in that way they always do when I plunge right into an orgasm.

My partner doesn’t move even after the aftershocks are through. They know me too well. Soon enough I’ll start up again, working toward a second time and then a third.

The movie has, of course, been long since forgotten.