Four Days Sober and I Am Rubbing My Wet Pussy

She knows exactly what she's doing to you.

Every move is slow, deliberate, teasing. She's fully nude, except for those black straps around her ankles, and the way she touches herself is pure torture. Her right hand strokes her vulva, sometimes circular, sometimes linear, always with a rhythm that makes you ache. Water droplets glisten on her skin as she moves. Her facial expressions shift between looking at you and closing her eyes, mouth open as if moaning. Her left hand rests on her thigh or occasionally touches her breast.

Her movements are so slow, so deliberate. She's edging herself, bringing herself to the brink over and over. You can feel your pulse racing, your breath catching in your throat as you watch. Your hand is moving of its own accord, stroking in time with hers. You know you won't last long like this. The way she looks at you, the way she touches herself... it's all too much.

You can feel yourself getting harder, wetter, with every passing moment. The anticipation is killing you. She's so close, but she never quite tips over the edge. And neither do you, not yet. You're right there with her, feeling every stroke, every touch. The heat is building, the tension is unbearable... and then it cuts off, leaving you desperate for more.