Lost in Thought

I reread the email you sent. It was probably the dozenth time, or more, that I'd read your words. And just as the first eleven times, I felt a sudden warmth begin to pool between my legs. It wasn't even that you'd written anything remotely deserving of this sharp desire. And yet there it was.

I tried to shake it off, which is how I ended up in this bath, bubbles covering me as the hot water engulfed me. I thought that maybe a little relaxation would ease the ache inside me.

I slid my fingers over my stomach, up to my breasts. My nipples were already hard just from remembering your gentle words. I slid my thumbs over the taut tips, sighing softly as I sank lower into the tub. I rolled my nipples between my thumb and forefinger, wishing I could feel your teeth softly nibbling.

Continuing to let my fingers on one hand play with first one hard nipple, then the next, I allowed my other hand to slide back down my stomach. I could still hear your voice whisper that I'm loved. My hand moved lower. I could still feel your eyes gazing deeply into mine. My hand caressed over my need. I trembled at the contact. While I knew it wasn't your touch, and wished desperately that it could have been, just the slightest touch from my own hand had me writhing, craving more.

I could feel how hot and wet I was, and let my fingers massage back and forth over that moist heat for a few moments. I stopped every now and then to circle my fingers over my hardening clit. Each time I connected with it, i bucked a little, splashing water around me. My eyes closed, my thoughts centered solely on you, imagining it was your fingers, your touch, your lips caressing me. My finger slipped inside me, then another, probing the heat. I rocked against my hand, desperate for release. The fingers of my other hand tightened over the nipple, squeezing it harder, pain radiating through me, but turning instantly to pleasure.

It wasn't enough. God it wasn't enough. I needed more. Anxiously, I reached over the tub, finding a small shampoo bottle. It wasn't you. It wasn't what I wanted. But it was more than my fingers could provide. Without another thought, I pressed the bottle to my wetness, caressing it over my slit, closing my eyes again to the feel. I again let myself remember your voice, the way you used to hold me, and I quickly buried the bottle inside me, whimpering aloud as I imagined it you buried deep....