Memory.

I took off my wool pants. I climbed back into the made bed and snuggled down. It was 2 in the afternoon. My mind wandered through various scenarios - things I had speculated about, you and I in familiar places doing sexy things - but couldn't rest on one. Finally I dove all the way back to our first night together. The next morning, actually. It was the first time you made me come. You watched my face intensely, urging me on with 'yes, yes, good girl' It was as though you were a spectator, objectively watching. You loved that you could do this. You wanted me to take it, to use you for what I wanted. I ground against you, clutching at whatever part of you I could reach. This is what I thought of: you watching me as you made me come. Touching myself to this memory brought a hot bursting POW of orgasm, then rippling aftershocks. I only stopped when my hand cramped.