I’m a woman with a high sex drive. A woman that needs to get off every day. Often times – more so as of late – I take a rather utilitarian approach.
Securely under the covers, pajama bottoms bunched down around my ankles, knees spread wide, the soles of my feet pressed together and drawn close to my exposed center. My little bullet vibrator in my right hand, my left hand draped across my inner thigh for backup support.
I’m all business, my pussy primed and ready, like Pavlov’s dog at the mere sight of the bell. I press that magical button and find my favorite wham-bam setting: level 3 speed, solid vibration. I might have some inspiration on hand – porn images reflecting my mood for the day, a particularly steamy scene in whatever erotica I’m reading at the moment, even the occasional photo of a man I might be lusting over – whether were acquainted or he’s got thousands of followers on his IG page.
I come at my clit, ready for the release, ready to cum – one, two…five times, depending on the kind of day it’s been.
After the initial orgasm hits, I’m soft with the pressure – backing off the direct contact – so that I can come down a step. Not enough to lose my baseline, but enough to build up from it again. I know my body, know when my swelling folds need the brush of my fingers to add a bit of fantasy to the mix. I close my eyes and imagine it’s him – That man. A hybrid mix: the one who ate my pussy better than any other man to date…and the one who bent me over a picnic table late at night in a friends backyard, fisting my hair while he groaned and fucked me relentlessly…even the one that draped his weight over me and did nothing but whisper all the filthy things he liked about me, while he pumped into me slowly, missionary style.
Men that imprinted, but men no longer in my life. Not terribly romantic, but effective all the same. I cum and cum some more. When I’ve reached my orgasmic quota for the night, the vibrator is shut off, abandoned to my side while I recover and take stock. With this down to business approach, I’m sated, perhaps a little sweaty. Like a 15 minute run – adequately exerted but not taxed. Perhaps even a little sleepy – that type of release is great before bed. Needs met.
Sometimes, however…sometimes I feel the need to indulge a bit more. Less *wham-bam*, more *thank you, ma’am*. Less compilation, more “there’s this one guy…”
And this guy? He isn’t a vibrator needed kind of guy. He’s not a one-trick pony. He’s a breeding stud of fine pedigree. It’s evident in the way he speaks, the way he interacts with the world around him, the way he carries himself. He could care less what others think of him because he knows he operates with genuine, honest Dominance. Not simply sexually, but with everything he does. Alpha, but not an asshole.
This man is what the indulgent sessions require. This man is crave-inducing. He’s the guy that slips into the room at a party, and you sense his presence before anyone else has taken notice. You feel his quiet confidence emitting in waves from his calm exterior. You watch as he assesses the crowd, reads the dynamics. You watch him take a pull from the bottle on his hands, and you want to be that cool glass upon his lips.
Can this man be fodder for the pajamas bunched around my ankles type masturbation? You’re damn right he can.
But more so, he’s the man that would actually yank those bottoms clean off my legs, bend me at the waist until my cheek is pressed firmly into the mattress, and work my body into a lather…slowly, torturously, deliciously.
So I indulge when this man is on the menu. I’m comfortably reclined with a towel underneath me – it’s about to get wet. I’m naked – I want his hands everywhere.
My hands trace the path his lips, tongue, fingers would take. My neck to my collarbone, to my breasts – tracing each swell and curve, circling in an ever smaller spiral until I reach the raised edges of my areola. Skating around my darkened flesh, the edges puckering tighter, causing my nipples to perk and pebble. Using my fingertips to pluck and pinch and circle each hardened bead…drawing my fingers to my tongue, then back down to the aching tips. My mind seeing his mouth lower to draw one between his lips, my back arching into his warm persistent suck. The result of his focus, a direct line to my center, and the pulsing begins. I play with my breasts, feeling my heart rate pick up, feeling that delicious ache builds between my legs. One hand releases a nipple and begins it’s decent – past my ribs, a warm flattened palm sweeping firmly down my abdomen til it’s reached my mound.
Fingers together, sliding left to the spot where my inner thigh meets my outer lips, teasing exploration up, then down again. Across the bridge of skin below my wet entrance, then up the right side to repeat the motions. Like the attention to my breasts, an ever smaller circuit of touch and tease – not yet dipping into my slit. Then suddenly a finger trails up – up from that lower strip, a barely there dip through my wet tight hole, and up through the seam til I’ve reached the spot just below my clit. Two fingers now, to run the path I see him taking – a finger on either side of my bundle of nerves till he’s at the top of my hood, closing together in a scout’s salute – he’s fully prepared to work me over at this point. And the wonders he works, with my fingers doing his bidding. Two fingers lazily circling for a few rotations, then held firm as his pattern changes, to sweep across my clit. Side to side, building the pressure.
My other hand leaves the work I’ve been doing on my breasts, I’m ready for more.
One hand working my clit, the fingers of the other dipping back through my dewy lips and finally..finally pushing deeper into my tight soaking wet hole. Now is where the mood shifts.
I’ve tortured myself (and you, in the telling) long enough…now I’m sporting a deep ache, and when my two fingers work their way in, my hips lift off the bed at that bit of relief. They push in, draw out, my pussy clinging to those two fingers, soaking my digits to the top knuckle, enabling me to fuck myself with ease. The thumb of my right hand has joined the ministrations on my clit, pushing down from the top, causing my hood to draw back fully, and ohhh how it feels deep inside. Now it’s your mouth on my clit – sucking, with purpose and hunger.
My inserted fingers feel the squeezing response and I finger fuck myself with a steady rhythm to match the pulse I’m creating – you’re creating – against my clit.
The angle and direction shift up, pull forward against my inner ceiling. Each withdraw and plunge creating a swelling of my g spot…my hips grinding down and up to counter the beat my fingers inside are building on. I can feel a tingling now to rival, yet compliment the ache within me.
Now I see you kneeling on the bed between my legs, see you palming and stroking your shaft – on display for me – showing me how hard I make you, letting me know with your free hand – my hand – that you’ll be taking up residency in my pussy momentarily. Your eyes burning into me, telling me in no uncertain terms, that you’re not about to be gentle.
In my mind, I watch you stroke your shaft, watch the precum leaking from your tip. My increasing wetness a response to your call, my panting breaths and uttered curses – with my fingers buried in me – a match to the fantasy timbre of your groans.
You’re gripping your shaft just below your crown, lining it up with my entrance… as my two fingers are retreating to add a third. Then a gasp, as I’m pressing those three fingers in. I feel your stretch, I can hear your groan..guttural and hungry, feral and determined now. My pace is steady and more powerfully punctuated, as my knuckles hit their hilt. I’m buried, you’re buried. The wetness you’re inspiring becomes audible and messy, I’m leaking past that lower bridge of skin, dripping down the crack of my ass to the towel below.
The fingers at my clit persisting, pressing harder, forearms burning, the heat radiating from my apex intense. My back is arching, my pussy grinding into my fingers..into your thrusts. So fucking wet now…and then I feel it..that moment when the ache becomes a burning white heat deep within me.
This is where my indulgence – my thoughts of you (THAT man) – really make this trip of self-care all worthwhile.
Because the orgasm that begins, that rolls through me, isn’t a wham-bam…oh no, it isn’t. It is a bona fide, top–shelf, ride on a pedigreed stud. It is everything I know that observant and placid, a true Alpha man in the corner at the party can offer.
Heat and intense focus…and wild, unchecked lust. It’s wave after pounding wave of explosion, my pussy soaking with it, my fingers being squeezed and pulled deeper, nipples tight. Mouth an O that emits pure sounds of pleasure, a keening then moaning and gasping as I continue to push that rhythm and ride the wave for as long as it will take me. Another hits, this one shorter and more punishing, and I imagine then that you’re sunk deep and releasing into me, filling me fuller with each twitch of your cock, your balls pulled tight and emptying their load. My fingers feeling those quieting, milking tugs of my inner walls.
I collapse then, wrung out. My hand is soaked and I withdraw it, trail it up to my swollen lips. Deliver a few good smacks to my folds, a bit of sting that heightens my aftershocks against my clit and deep within. My eyes open wider, I inhale a deep cleansing breath, then another. Your fantasy presence surrounds me. I wonder if you know the moment I came for you tonight…despite the geography between us. I hope you’ll feel this, the way I felt you.
Thank you for indulging me, while I pleasured myself.
Holy fuck. You are an amazing writer. That was intense. If you don’t write often, you really should.