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Nathaly always loved keeping souvenirs of their rare nights together. With Mark living two cities away and their schedules clashing like puzzle pieces that never quite fit, those stolen hours felt like oxygen. So she recorded them not for anyone else, just for herself. Grainy clips, shaky angles, heavy breathing captured on her phone. She watched them alone later, replaying the way his hands claimed her, the sounds she made when he hit exactly the right spot. It kept the fire alive between visits. Tonight the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. She had slipped into her favorite piece: a sheer black bodystocking that hugged every curve like a second skin. The crotch was cut out completely open, shameless, leaving her bare and already slick just from the feel of the nylon sliding over her thighs and ass. She lay back on the bed, legs spread lazily, phone propped against a pillow so she could see the screen without holding it. The latest video started playing. It was from last month, the cheap hotel room with the ugly orange curtains. Mark had her bent over the desk, skirt shoved up, panties yanked to the side. The camera angle caught everything: his thick cock sliding in and out, her fingers gripping the edge of the wood, the way her back arched every time he bottomed out. She could hear her own voice in the recording broken little gasps, then a desperate %u201Charder, fuck, please harder%u201D that made her cheeks burn even now. Nathaly''s free hand drifted down. She traced the open slit of the bodystocking first, feeling how wet she already was, how swollen. Two fingers slipped inside easily, curling just the way Mark did with his tongue last time. She matched the rhythm on screen slow at first, then faster as the video-Mark grabbed her hips and started pounding. Her thumb found her clit, circling in tight, insistent strokes. The nylon stretched tight across her breasts, nipples hard and visible through the mesh. She pinched one, tugging until it stung in the best way. On the phone, past-Nathaly cried out as Mark pulled her hair back, exposing her throat. Present-Nathaly whimpered at the memory, hips lifting off the mattress. She added a third finger, stretching herself, imagining it was him filling her again. The wet sounds of her own hand mixed with the tinny audio from the speakers %u2013 skin slapping, his low growls, her pleading moans. She switched to another clip midway: this one slower, more intimate. Mark on his back, her riding him reverse, ass bouncing as she took him deep. The camera caught the way her pussy gripped him, glistening, stretched around his length. Nathaly''s breathing turned ragged. She fucked herself harder now, palm grinding against her clit, fingers plunging in and out with obscene squelches. Her thighs trembled, the bodystocking rasping against her skin with every movement. %u201CFuck%u2026 Mark%u2026%u201D she whispered to the empty room, eyes glued to the screen where he was flipping her onto her back, spreading her wide, driving in again. That was the moment the exact thrust that always sent her over in real life. She chased it now, frantic, hips bucking. Heat coiled low in her belly, tighter, tighter. Then it snapped. She came hard, back arching off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. Her inner walls clenched around her fingers, pulsing, slick dripping down to the sheets. The phone kept playing Mark groaning as he finished inside her on screen %u2013 but she barely heard it over her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. When the aftershocks finally eased, she let her hand fall away, chest heaving. The bodystocking clung damply to her skin. She reached for the phone, paused the video on a frozen frame of his face buried between her thighs, and smiled tired, satisfied, already counting the days until she could make a new recording. One more clip saved. One more night she could relive until he was back in her bed for real.