The first raindrop tapped the tin roof like a tease as she stepped inside, the balcony door clicking shut behind her. The room was dim, warm with the scent of chai and sandalwood. Her dusky skin gleamed with a fine sheen of monsoon sweat, her full hips swaying in the soft cotton of her damp kurti. The fabric hugged her in all the right places — clinging to the generous curve of her breasts, the deep swell of her thighs. She wasn’t small. She wasn’t delicate. She was abundance.
And tonight, she wanted to feel all of herself.
The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the fan and the occasional sigh that escaped her lips. She lay back, bare beneath the sheet, the cotton barely covering the heat building between her legs. Her fingers grazed her own skin, slow, reverent.
And then — her mind opened.
She imagined him. Not just any man — him who didn’t exist in reality. Perfect men do not exist these days - The one who didn’t rush. Who looked at her like she was made of honey and depth. Who wanted nothing more than to taste every inch of her — without ever entering her.
He knew. He knew that what most women longed for was not thrusts, but attention. Not hardness, but worship. Not performance, but patience.
In her mind, he parted her thighs and whispered into her skin. Lips lingering at her ankles, her knees, the inside of her thighs- Kissing every bit of it, particularly her ankle and legs. He didn’t touch her clit — not yet. He teased around it, kissed close, breathed hot against it until her hips lifted, begging.
Her fingers mirrored his imagined touch.
She moaned — loud. Her body tensed and broke. Then she started with the soft touch with opening the pussy lips and gently rubbing her clits that has swollen after hours of kissing. She started flicking them gently in circular motion, very softly and slowly increasing those clitoral hoods that has now been fully ready to revive a nice flick of tongue.
she imagined being licked on the clips and inside out - at this point of time the clits were completely wet with saliva and were being sucked by a tongue ensuring every bit of it is properly sucked and kissed. It’s almost as her pussy - the vertical lips are engaged in a French kiss act.
Finally, her climax rolling through her with force.
But she wasn’t done.
He kept going in her fantasy, mouth working her over, hands gripping her hands locking her fingers while she tightly grips him with one hand and tightly holds one end of bed ensuring her body is standstill position to get her clitories licked properly. She came again — slower this time, wetter, deeper.
And when it passed, when her body was still, she smiled.
Because even if no one ever touched her like that, she could.
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