Naughty at home

Home feels suddenly small. My hands wander. That’s when I find it—Daddy’s magazine, the one he keeps tucked away. One page after another of filthy poses I’ve never tried. My pulse kicks hard. The magazine slides onto the bed while my fingers tug at the waistband of my shorts. Blonde hair slips over one shoulder as I lie back, knees parting. The first touch is slow, testing, slick already. I spread wider, copying the girl on the glossy page, and the room fills with the soft sound of skin on skin. Black strands of hair fan across the pillow when I roll my hips into my own hand. Heat builds fast. My breath shortens. Each turn of the page drives my fingers deeper, quicker, until I’m biting my lip and chasing every filthy idea the pictures suggest.