Mature content warning. 18+ only!
Mutters to herself, playing out whatever fantasies she’s had on her mind—typically a one-sided “conversation” while her vivid imagination handles the rest. If she’s feeling particularly dramatic, she might just voice all parts of the fantasy out loud.
Pulls out all the stops when it comes to self-foreplay. On a lazy day, she’ll take her time getting undressed to really feel herself throughout the process. Or after she’s toweled off from a bath, a smooth and fragrant body cream would become the vehicle for sensual exploration of her arms, her thighs, her chest. Inevitably, either of these options would result in her teasing and squeezing her nipples until she can barely handle anymore.
Typical position: face down into pillowy abyss, often with her knees bent to prop herself up for a wide range of access.
Grinds on her own fingers, toys, pillows, or any given number of random objects she might have at her disposal—might even swing a leg off the side of the bed and use the edge of the mattress to her advantage.
Starts a bit slow as she finds what position and pressure best suit her that day, but quickly picks up speed once she gets what she’s searching for. Not too keen on making herself wait very long, especially not after making herself unbearably aroused, she keeps a medium-to-fast pace overall, following a percussive rhythm accompanied by her wild and yearning vocals.
Portia can come so quickly yet always so intensely (and so often) that the length of time spent before an orgasm doesn’t really matter to her. Even without much buildup, say a quick break at work, she’s perfectly content to rub one out and thoroughly enjoy every fleeting second.
Sometimes, she tries—she tries to hold off, but deep within her rapidly beating heart she knows that there is no part of her that truly wants to stop.
And so, ultimately, she does not.
Continuously and with such vigor, she strokes, or grinds, or pounds through the entire orgasm no longer with any rhythm of which to speak. A steady pace means nothing in these moments as she is alternately halted and jolted with the coming and going of full-body spasms.
Even after she’s melted into a puddle of her own making, she does not stop—touching herself slower yet still with irregularity as the slightly electric sense of overstimulation first prolongs her fall from the high, then begins to deter further movement.
She finishes with her eyes shut and body still as it was, just finding her breath once more, idling and embracing calm while the dense cloud of sensations dissipates, reluctant to truly let it be over.
At home, she might fall asleep with her hand still tucked in her undergarments, or maybe on top of her pillow with it still between her legs, depending on how she decided to get off that day. If at work, she moves through the rest of her day a master of deceit with not one soul having a clue what she’s just done.
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