A Little Self Care

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The bathroom mirror fogged up as I stepped out of the shower. The water was dripping from my body and pooling on the bright tiles beneath me. The heat still lingered on my skin, making my nipples harden in the chill of the air. I toweled off slowly, savoring the way the rough Terry slid over my bare flesh, my fingers lingering on my waist before trailing down between my thighs. My pussy was already wet, aching for attention, but I resisted the urge to touch myself just yet. Today is about self-care, darn it.

I slathered on the pink clay face mask, the cool paste spreading over my skin in a thick layer. It tightens almost immediately, pulling at my features, making me look like some kind of grotesque, smooth-skinned alien. I grin, then grimace at my reflection. Well shee-it, I do look ridiculous! But the way it makes my skin feel—tight, alive—is worth it. I lean in closer, examining the fine lines around my eyes, the slight sag of my jawline. At thirty-five, I’m not as tight as I used to be, but I’ve earned every fucking line on my face.

The mask cracks as I smile, and I peel off chunks of it, tossing them into the trash. My skin is flushed, pink, sensitive. I dab on a bit of toner, then on goes the lotion—thick, unscented, the kind that soaks in without leaving a greasy film. My hands move over my body, slow and deliberate. I massage it into my shoulders, my collarbone, and finally my nipples, which harden between my fingertips. I pinch one, rolling it in my fingers until a sharp gasp escapes my lips. The lotion makes everything slicker, easier to grip, to twist, to tease.

I can’t wait anymore.

I drop the lotion bottle onto the vanity with a clatter and slide two fingers between my legs, already dripping. The first touch is electric. My clit throbs under my fingertips, swollen and needy. I circle it lazily at first, then faster, my breath hitching as pleasure coils tight in my belly. My other hand drifts up to my tits, squeezing, pinching, pulling at my nipples until they ache.

I moan, leaning back against the counter. The mirror behind me shows me exactly what I look like—legs spread, fingers working between them, mouth slightly open as I bite down on my lower lip. My tits rise and fall with every ragged breath I take.

I imagine someone watching me. Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re standing in the doorway, just out of sight, stroking your dick while you watch me fuck myself with my fingers. The thought makes my pussy clench around nothing, desperate for more.

I push two fingers inside, curling them just right. My hips jerk forward, seeking more friction, more pressure. My thumb finds my clit again, rubbing in tight little circles as I fuck myself with my fingers. The sound of my wetness fills the bathroom, sloppy and obscene, and I can’t bring myself to care.

"God, you’re so wet for me," I murmur to no one in particular. My voice is rough and needy. "Look at you, all spread out, touching yourself like a little slut."

I add a third finger, stretching myself, my breath coming in short gasps. My free hand drifts down to my ass, fingers teasing the tight little hole there. I’ve never been one for anal, but right now? Right now, I want to feel something filling me up, something thick and hard and relentless.

I imagine it’s you behind me, hands gripping my hips, your cock pressing against my entrance. You’d shove into me without warning, stretching me open, making me scream. The thought sends me over the edge.

"Fuck, I’m gonna come," I gasp, my fingers working furiously between my legs. My back arches, my toes curl, and then—

The orgasm hits me like a freight train, my body convulsing as pleasure rips through me. My pussy clenches around my fingers as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me. I cry out, my voice raw and broken, and I don’t stop touching myself. Not even when the pleasure starts to ebb, not when my clit becomes oversensitive. I keep going, chasing the last little bits of my climax, my fingers soaked in my own arousal.

Finally, I pull my fingers out with a wet pop, and I bring them to my lips, tasting myself. Salty, musky, delicious. I moan as I lick them clean, my eyes fluttering shut.

When I open them again, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My face is flushed, my lips parted, my hair a wild mess. I look thoroughly fucked. And I kind of want to be.