Before I touch myself

Before I touch myself I strip naked, kneel in the middle of the room, and place my hands behind my head. I wait like this. I wish you would open the door and find me like this. Waiting, ready, displayed and accessible. And so wanting. I can imagine the sound of your foot steps walking around me, looking at everything that is yours. I close my eyes and can imagine the toe of your shoe pressing into my thigh, stepping hard and then kicking. And I spread my thighs wider for you. Too wide. My legs stretch, my lips part without help.
I can almost feel you squatting in front of me and flicking each nipple. They grow harder. I long to feel your fingers on them, pinching them, pulling them. I whimper to myself.
My thighs quiver, stretch, complain as I imagine your finger unceremoniously, viciously, push into my cunt. I can hear your tsk of disapproval at my dripping, slutty, appearance. I can hear you growling softly: what a dirty slut.
I lick my own lips imagining you forcing your finger in my mouth. Clean this off! I long to bathe your finger with my tongue. I long to feel your hand slap my face hard and leave a trail of my juices along my cheek.
I wait like this. I wish you to come in. I silently beg for your presence till my arms ache, my thighs burn, and my pussy drips a puddle on the floor.
And then I can stand it no longer, I pinch my own nipple, I force my own fingers deep inside me. I fuck my cunt hard and feel my palm slam against my clit over and over. I’m a dripping, filthy, greedy, naughty little whore. I can feel my orgasm rising and rising and to the empty room I beg for permission to cum.