Fill 'er up in Daydreams

She doesn’t dream of stiff cocks anymore. No, she knows it was merely a placeholder, that she deserves more than being a receptacle.
But she still fantasizes about sensuality.
Skin on skin. Fingers sliding.
She still fears where the fantasies go, sometimes, but tries to focus on the softer sides.
Soft, like a forefinger circling slowly. Slipping between lips. Pushing between the her folds. Thumb rubbing her clit, causing her hips to shift. Shifting hips correlate with the finger fully exiting the wetness, shame settling as forcefully as her hips jerk and as tightly as her silken walls trying to squeeze the fullness back inside. Wanting more, always more. Never enough.
She barely has time for a frustrated groan before she feels the rigid digit pushing again in to. Her legs open, heels push down, expecting much less than they received. She didn’t know how many fingers were inside her, didn’t care.
She closed her eyes, pressed her head against the surface behind it, pressed her hips upwards, tried to stifle the fear and surrender to the sensations.