This is how I would write erotica, she murmured to herself, as she felt the click-tap of her nipple clamps pressed against the glass. For the disgusting men, jacking off under their desks and the well tailored womyn sliding their manicured fingernails under the waistbands of their well tailored business suits, alone in their cubicles or offices. I would write it so they could feel this...
Her breast pressed against the glass window above the square, nipples cold and clanking as she thrust and jutted her hips forward, grinding into the wall, hard and cold. She felt her heels leave the ground as her pubic hair brushed back and forth against the brick mortar of the sunny, upstairs room, almost 300 feet above the cobbled streets of Italy. Uh..uh huh, oooh, is drawn from her throat as she imagines her lover finding her in this position. Legs spread, breast flattened against the glass. Thrusting back and forth, begging to be caught. Not by the tourists below but by the heavy footsteps vibrating their way up the stairs, directly into her cunt. Hand on the doorknob, turning it, mounting the steps to watch her fuck herself. Seeing her offering herself up, worshiping the sun and life in the easy ecstasy of her own fingertips.
But, her lover didn't come. Her nipples grew solid and begged to be tugged, clamped harder in the grip of her silver clamps. She reached down and loosened the screw herself, letting the toy, bite harder into her nipples. Perfect for self stimulation when she couldn't have a womyn's teeth biting into her tits, or tugging painfully at the pink tips. Her fingers circled gently around her ivory breasts, teasing herself as she turned from the window and gazed for something in this sleepy, borrowed flat, anything, to shove into her cunt. So aroused she was past shame, her eyes flickered to the non-existent bed posts, the attached shower head and the expansive size of the pillar candle, before resting on the cream colored wood of the small table chair.
I've always had a thing for inanimate objects, she mused to herself, more as a distraction from the slow throb between her legs, than a self censure, because she already knows, somehow, the chair will end up inside of her. Clenching her pussy lips together, she sat down on the small square stool, rocking a little and wishing for a vibration or a pulse of any source. Her mouth grew dry as she felt the wood pressing into the seam of her still buttoned jeans, nudging one of her lips forcefully against her clitoris. Riding there, she ran scenario after scenario through her head.
She was a goddess worshiped by many talented lovers, lying back as they caressed, appeased and thrust themselves into her. She was a cheap hooker surprised by a gentle but forceful womyn lover dressed as a man, pressing her up, up, hard against the wall. She was herself again, panting and squirming of the video this would make, as a surprise for her lover to watch later.