[ Something stirs in her bloodstream when he gives that suggestion. It's gentle, encouraging, but it's also confidently delivered and intrinsically lewd to hear him telling her to touch herself for him. Her knees spread by inches as she scoots them open, and her hand pulls back to slip between her thighs to where the spending from her orgasm has slicked the spot where her thighs touch and all over her folds.
She's gentle with herself, still so sensitive as she is after her climax. For a moment she rubs her whole hand against her folds, gentle circles. The lubricant comes away on them and she gets his meaning. Like machine parts. She presses two fingers into herself then, drawing a ragged breath from her lungs as her fingers instinctually search out that spot he'd pressed inside of her earlier.
Her eyelids flutter, her muscles squeeze around her fingers, and her hand comes away slick. She raises it and closes it around his cock again.
This time, she lets her fist start to move. The concept of lubricant clears it all up, really. Machine parts. His cock is a piston — it seeks friction, the same thrusting motion. She begins pumping her hand, grip tight, but the motions are unpracticed and unsteady. Slow, jerky at times. ]
Like this? [ She has been watching in awe as her own shining fluid smears over his length. It's amazing how velvety his skin feels under her touch. Softer than the rest of him. But she looks up as she questions him on her approach, searching his face for approval. She's neglecting the head, letting her knuckles butt up against it on every up-stroke without closing over it,. ]
~symbolism~
She's gentle with herself, still so sensitive as she is after her climax. For a moment she rubs her whole hand against her folds, gentle circles. The lubricant comes away on them and she gets his meaning. Like machine parts. She presses two fingers into herself then, drawing a ragged breath from her lungs as her fingers instinctually search out that spot he'd pressed inside of her earlier.
Her eyelids flutter, her muscles squeeze around her fingers, and her hand comes away slick. She raises it and closes it around his cock again.
This time, she lets her fist start to move. The concept of lubricant clears it all up, really. Machine parts. His cock is a piston — it seeks friction, the same thrusting motion. She begins pumping her hand, grip tight, but the motions are unpracticed and unsteady. Slow, jerky at times. ]
Like this? [ She has been watching in awe as her own shining fluid smears over his length. It's amazing how velvety his skin feels under her touch. Softer than the rest of him. But she looks up as she questions him on her approach, searching his face for approval. She's neglecting the head, letting her knuckles butt up against it on every up-stroke without closing over it,. ]