Mastering Loneliness

In the throes of isolation, she punheta, her hand a poor substitute for the real thing. Yet, she takes solace in the rhythm, the friction, the buildup of pressure. Her body responds, her heart races, her cunt throbs. She imagines faceless lovers, their hands, their mouths, their cocks. Her fingers pick up the pace, her body arches, her breath comes in ragged gasps. She's close, so close, teetering on the precipice of release, her solo dance of desire reaching its frenzied crescendo.

• punheta
• sozinho

• Unknown