Que Cerie, Cerie

The images slid across the screen in front of her, fingers moved in tight little circles. With a groan she shuddered as she came. Her toes curled, flexed, and then curled again. Panting in her chair a hollow feeling gnawed at her middle. The orgasms with Wyatt and his photos had been deeper, more fulfilling. She pushed herself to her feet and kicked over the chair. On wobbly legs she made her way to the bathroom and settled into a tub of scalding water.

She wanted the same level of intensity she had had with Wyatt. In a way it was almost like learning to see a new color. Then she had lost it. The world was still fine but she yearned for what she had before. She paused with her thumb hovering over the screen of her phone. The implication of her intended action settled over her. Wyatt had forced himself into her life initially. If she called him she would be accepting his involvement. Accepting his control over her, his use. Her thumb pushed the call button.