One Night To Forget Him

The next seven days became pure, agonizing torture.

The morning after that phone call, I woke up with my hand already between my thighs. My pussy was slick and swollen from the night before, still aching even after the powerful orgasm I’d had while talking to Daniel. I didn’t even get out of bed. I spread my legs wide, the cool morning air kissing my wet folds as I slid two fingers inside myself. My hips rocked slowly at first, savoring the stretch, but it wasn’t enough. I grabbed the new vibrator I’d ordered in a moment of desperation the day before and turned it on. The low buzz filled the room as I pressed the thick head against my clit, then pushed it deep inside me.

“Fuck… Daniel,” I moaned into the empty apartment, eyes closed tight. I fucked myself with the toy in long, deep strokes, imagining it was his cock pounding into me. My free hand pinched my nipples hard, twisting them the way he liked. The vibrations against my G-spot sent waves of pleasure crashing through me. My thighs trembled, juices dripping down to soak the sheets.

I rubbed my clit furiously with my fingers while thrusting the vibrator faster and faster. The pressure built quickly , that familiar tight coil in my belly, until I shattered. My back arched off the bed as I came hard, crying out his name, my pussy clenching and pulsing around the toy. But even as the pleasure faded, the emptiness returned almost immediately. One orgasm. That was all it took for the hunger to come roaring back.

Work at the café was hell. Every bend to grab a cup, every stretch to reach the top shelf made my short uniform skirt ride up, reminding me how sensitive I was. I kept sneaking to the bathroom during breaks, locking the door and frantically rubbing my clit through my panties until I came in quick, silent gasps. My panties were constantly damp. I texted Daniel constantly.

“I came twice this morning thinking about your cock.”

“My pussy is dripping at work. I need you so bad.”

“Please baby… just one quick visit?”

His replies were short and frustrating: “Miss you too. Work is killing me. Soon.”

By the third night, I was losing control. After my shift, I skipped dinner and went straight to bed. I stripped completely naked, my skin flushed with heat. I positioned the full-length mirror at the foot of the bed so I could watch myself like a desperate slut. Legs spread obscenely wide, I worked three fingers in and out of my soaked pussy while my thumb circled my swollen clit. I was dripping everywhere juices running down my ass and staining the sheets.

I added the vibrator again, this time pressing it against my asshole while I fucked my pussy harder. The dual sensation made me whimper and moan loudly. My breasts bounced with every thrust, nipples rock-hard. I watched in the mirror as my face contorted in pleasure and frustration, dark hair messy around my shoulders.

I came three times that night, each one more intense than the last, but none of them satisfied the deep, throbbing void inside me. I fell asleep exhausted, thighs sticky, still whispering Daniel’s name.

Days blurred together. Texts turned into voice notes where I moaned for him. Calls became arguments mixed with desperate dirty talk. My body was in constant heat , nipples always sensitive, pussy perpetually wet and aching. I bought more toys. I rode a thick dildo on the couch one afternoon, bouncing on it while watching a video of a man fucking a woman from behind, imagining it was us. My moans filled the apartment as I came, grinding down hard, but again… it wasn’t enough.

By day six, the frustration had twisted into real anger.

I called him that evening after my shift, still in my café uniform, pacing the living room. “Daniel, it’s been a full week. You promised you’d be back by now.”

He sighed on the other end, sounding exhausted. “I know, Mia. There’s this massive deadline. The boss is riding us non-stop. I’m going to need at least another week. I’m really sorry, babe.”

Another week.

The words hit me like ice water. I stopped pacing, staring at our bed…. the same bed where I’d been desperately fucking myself every single night. My pussy throbbed angrily at his words, almost protesting. Heat flooded my face, a mix of fury and unbearable arousal.

“Another week?” My voice rose. “I’m going crazy here, Daniel! I’m touching myself multiple times a day and it’s still not enough. I need your cock. I need you to fuck me until I can’t walk straight. I can’t keep doing this alone.”

“I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he said, his tone placating. “I promise. Just hold on a little longer.”

I hung up without another word, my hands shaking with rage.

That was it. I was done waiting like a pathetic, horny girlfriend.

I stormed into the bedroom and yanked open the closet. I pulled out the sexiest dress I owned , a tight black one that clung to my curves, barely covering my ass, with a low neckline that showed off my full breasts. I let my long dark hair cascade down my back, applied bold makeup, and stared at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, eyes burning with determination and lust.

If Daniel wouldn’t come to me, I would go to him.

I grabbed my keys, my heart pounding with a dangerous cocktail of anger and raw desire. He had no idea what was coming for him. I was going to walk into that office and remind him exactly who he was neglecting,and what this neglected pussy could do.