My lesbian gf and I were supposed to be having a quiet night in, but quiet wasn't exactly what either of us had in mind. I was on the couch, scrolling through my phone, when I felt her eyes on me. I looked up, and she was just watching me, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.
"What?" I asked, laughing a little.
"Nothing," she said, but her voice was lower than usual, that honeyed tone that meant she was thinking about something other than TV. "Just thinking about how much I want to watch you touch yourself."
My breath hitched. It wasn't a new fantasy, but hearing it said out loud, so bluntly, sent a jolt straight to my clit. "Yeah?" I breathed, putting my phone down.
She nodded, her eyes dark. "Yeah. Right here. I want to see you make yourself come."
That was all the permission I needed. I leaned back against the cushions, spreading my legs slightly. Her gaze was intense, hungry, as I slowly unbuttoned my jeans. I could feel how wet I already was, the fabric of my panties damp against me. I slipped my hand inside, my fingers finding my slick folds easily.
Her eyes followed my every movement. I circled my clit, slow at first, teasing myself, building the pressure. "Like this?" I asked, my voice shaky.
"Just like that," she murmured, her own hand drifting down to rest between her legs, outside her jeans. "Show me how you like it."
I did. I showed her the rhythm that makes my back arch, the pressure that makes my toes curl. I was putting on a show, but it was also for me—the thrill of her watching, the raw intimacy of it all. I could hear her breathing getting heavier, see the flush rising on her chest. She was getting off just on watching me, and that knowledge was the hottest thing I'd ever felt.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," she whispered, her voice thick with arousal. "I want to see you fall apart."
And I did. I closed my eyes, giving in to the sensation, my fingers working faster, harder. The orgasm hit me like a wave, sharp and overwhelming, a cry tearing from my throat. When I opened my eyes, she was right there, her lips crashing into mine, kissing me with a desperate, consuming hunger. She didn't have to touch herself; seeing me come had been enough for her, at least for now. But I knew, as she deepened the kiss, that our night was far from over.
"What?" I asked, laughing a little.
"Nothing," she said, but her voice was lower than usual, that honeyed tone that meant she was thinking about something other than TV. "Just thinking about how much I want to watch you touch yourself."
My breath hitched. It wasn't a new fantasy, but hearing it said out loud, so bluntly, sent a jolt straight to my clit. "Yeah?" I breathed, putting my phone down.
She nodded, her eyes dark. "Yeah. Right here. I want to see you make yourself come."
That was all the permission I needed. I leaned back against the cushions, spreading my legs slightly. Her gaze was intense, hungry, as I slowly unbuttoned my jeans. I could feel how wet I already was, the fabric of my panties damp against me. I slipped my hand inside, my fingers finding my slick folds easily.
Her eyes followed my every movement. I circled my clit, slow at first, teasing myself, building the pressure. "Like this?" I asked, my voice shaky.
"Just like that," she murmured, her own hand drifting down to rest between her legs, outside her jeans. "Show me how you like it."
I did. I showed her the rhythm that makes my back arch, the pressure that makes my toes curl. I was putting on a show, but it was also for me—the thrill of her watching, the raw intimacy of it all. I could hear her breathing getting heavier, see the flush rising on her chest. She was getting off just on watching me, and that knowledge was the hottest thing I'd ever felt.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," she whispered, her voice thick with arousal. "I want to see you fall apart."
And I did. I closed my eyes, giving in to the sensation, my fingers working faster, harder. The orgasm hit me like a wave, sharp and overwhelming, a cry tearing from my throat. When I opened my eyes, she was right there, her lips crashing into mine, kissing me with a desperate, consuming hunger. She didn't have to touch herself; seeing me come had been enough for her, at least for now. But I knew, as she deepened the kiss, that our night was far from over.
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