Luteal Longing: A Descent to Desire

The rain hammered against the windows of my small apartment, a relentless rhythm mirroring the insistent thrumming in my core. It was a typical day for me, a day steeped in longing, a day defined by the potent cocktail of hormones surging through my body as I neared my period. I’d been experiencing these intense waves of desire lately, a wild, untamed energy that left me both exhilarated and utterly desperate. Masturbation had become a daily ritual, a way to channel this raw need, to indulge in fantasies that painted vivid pictures of what I craved most: a connection, a release, a complete surrender to pleasure.

Tonight, the feeling was particularly acute. My luteal phase, the time just before menstruation, always brought an amplified intensity, a heightened sensitivity that made even the most mundane touch feel electrifying. I started my foreplay slowly, deliberately, as a way to savor the anticipation. I slipped into a silky white G-string, the cool fabric against my skin sending shivers down my spine. Then, I lay on my back, my body relaxed and vulnerable, and began to massage my mound with long, deliberate strokes. The goal was to build heat, to stimulate the nerves, to prepare myself for the pleasure to come. I focused on the exquisite sensation of my own body, letting the rhythm of my touch dictate my pace. I watched a video on my tablet – a saccharine romance set in a luxurious tropical resort, a couple lost in passionate embraces. The scene unfolded before me, each intimate touch, each whispered word, fueling my own fantasies. The visuals were a stark contrast to my own reality, a reminder of what I truly desired, of the kind of love and connection I yearned for.

As the video played, the pressure inside me intensified. I continued my self-stimulation, grinding my hips against the bedsheets, drawing moisture from my labia, feeling the heat build to a fever pitch. It was almost unbearable, this overwhelming surge of desire, but I welcomed it, embraced it, knowing that this was exactly what I needed. I reached for my favorite vibe, a sleek, black silicone device that always delivered intense pleasure. But it was already dry, stiff, and unresponsive. Disappointment flickered through me, quickly replaced by determination. More grinding, more friction, more desperate pleas to my own body. Finally, I felt the familiar surge of moisture, the release of tension, and a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over me.

Sitting up, I turned to face the mirror, letting my eyes trace the contours of my body. The light caught the sweat glistening on my skin, highlighting the curves of my breasts, the fullness of my stomach, the tautness of my thighs. My long, untied hair cascaded down my back, a dark, lustrous waterfall. My tanned arms, a testament to countless hours spent soaking in the sun, felt powerful and sensual. I took a deep breath, savoring the moment, reveling in my own beauty, my own desirability. This body, this vessel of pleasure, was all mine, and tonight, I would explore its depths with unrestrained abandon.

Then, the fantasies began. My mind conjured images of my future husband, a man who embodied strength, passion, and unwavering devotion. I envisioned him as a skilled lover, one who understood the language of touch, the power of submission, the exquisite pleasure of being completely dominated. The scene unfolded in my mind’s eye: we were on our honeymoon, a secluded villa overlooking a turquoise ocean. He was thrusting gently into me, his hand finding the precise spot that sent shivers down my spine. I welcomed his touch, begging him to push deeper, to explore every inch of my pleasure. My right hand explored my clitoral hood, teasing and tantalizing, while my left hand gripped my body, pulling me closer, closer, closer.

As my arousal intensified, I flipped onto my belly, pinning my arms beneath me, unable to fully support my weight. The pain was sharp, but it was a welcome distraction from the overwhelming pleasure building within me. I nearly came, a desperate, involuntary spasm of my muscles, but I fought it back, determined to prolong the experience.

Returning to my previous position before the mirror, I gazed over my body once more, letting my eyes linger on the details. The soft, toned flesh of my belly, the tanned expanse of my arms, the small, round breasts with their taut, pink nipples, and finally, the flushed vulva, glistening with my own fluid, a beacon of invitation. I whispered to the empty room, my voice filled with longing, my thoughts consumed by the desire for connection, for intimacy, for a love that would transcend the physical.

The scenario shifted in my mind. Suddenly, I was no longer alone. A group of friends had joined us, each eager to experience my pleasure. The first man, a muscular stranger with piercing blue eyes, approached me with a confident grin. He took my vibe, inserting it deep into my pussy, his hand gently stroking my labia as he did so. The sensation was intense, electrifying, sending shivers down my spine. I arched my back, begging him to cum, urging him on with a desperate moan.

After what felt like an eternity, he did. A powerful, explosive release that left me trembling and breathless. I quickly pulled the vibe out, letting my cream drip down my thighs, pretending it was his semen. Then, I reinserted it, letting him know that the pleasure wasn’t over. The next man, a burly biker with a scarred face, followed suit, his movements forceful and primal. I welcomed his touch, his dominance, his raw energy, allowing myself to be completely consumed by the moment. Each man took his turn, each encounter leaving me more and more aroused, more and more desperate for release.

Finally, my “husband” reclaimed me, engulfing me in his sweaty embrace. He was wet, squishy, and utterly devoted. I welcomed his presence, pulling him closer, deepening the penetration, begging him to unleash his load in me. I spasmed uncontrollably, my muscles clenching and releasing, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The sensations flooded me so quickly that I jerked the vibe out, hoping for a final, explosive climax. But it didn’t come. Disappointment threatened to overwhelm me, but then, I shook my hips, shivered my body, and took several deep breaths to calm myself. The desire lingered, a burning ember in my core.

Oh, how I longed to finish such a delicious session with the one man God has set apart for me! I couldn't explain the depths of my pleasure, the overwhelming sense of release, the profound connection I felt with both myself and my pleasure partners. I just wanted to give him indescribable pleasure, to feel his strong, full cock against my pussy, to lose myself in the intoxicating rhythm of our intertwined bodies. I wanted to kiss his mouth lazily, to go limp in his arms, to feel his sweaty skin against mine, to hold him and be held by him. May it be so someday, dear Lord! As the rain continued to fall, I closed my eyes, surrendering to the pleasure, trusting in the promise of future intimacy, praying for the fulfillment of my deepest desires.

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