Two, Maybe Three Times

“Babe, I’ll be back in a bit. Just getting dinner stuff. Love you!”

As soon as I hear the door shut I spring into action, starting by turning the TV down so I can hear if he comes back sooner than expected. I then throw myself on the bed and reach into the bottom drawer of the cabinet, floating my hands over the array of toys staring back at me. Which one should I pick today? If he’s only getting dinner stuff, I’ve probably got around 15 minutes before he gets back. Which of my toys will finish me off the quickest? 

My bright pink [and cliche] Rampant Rabbit wins for speed – The Silicone Neon One. Provided the batteries are fully charged and ready to go, the pulsating, vibrating toy can finish me off in just a couple of minutes. I’ve managed to make myself come four times in one dinner run before, although it was a rush to clean and stash things away again before the bedroom door opened and his face beamed in. I managed it, though. My legs might’ve been like jelly and I was struggling to hold my breath so he wouldn’t notice my panting, but I managed it and he was none the wiser. Or maybe he was? I don’t think I mind either way.

I tug at my jeans and underwear and struggle to yank the skinny legs down over my calves and feet, leaving a mess of denim and lace on the floor that I’ll have to sort out in a panic once I’m finished. Each time he almost catches me I promise myself I’ll arrange them so they’re easier and quicker to put on again, but I never do. It’s not really much of a “danger wank” when everything is so carefully planned that the element of danger has been completely removed.

I bet on not having enough time to find some porn to help me along, but in the state I’m in, I’m not sure I need it. I’m wet enough that I definitely don’t need to rummage around for lube, a bit of saliva on my fingers and massaged around the pink shaft helping to keep things running smoothly. I’ve been thinking about this for a little while, waiting for my moment: when he shuts the door and I hear the key turn into the lock.

Alone.

Pink flash of silicone in my hand, I already know which vibration setting I’ll need. It’s the sixth one, flicking straight past the three continual, gradually getting more intense, on settings; and then the on-off setting; and then the gradual on-off setting. I like the long and slower on-off setting.

On, on.

Off, off.

It doesn’t take very long before the flutters of my first orgasm start to materialise. I can feel myself getting closer with each on-cycle, but it all fades away when the vibrations stop for those few seconds. Three steps forward and two steps back, it’s like I’m edging, but not. Edging on a deadline. A 15-minute deadline, give or take a few, in which I need to make myself come as many times as is necessary to feel satisfied again. It’s never just once. More often than not, I’ll aim for twice. If I’m feeling really brave, three times. I haven’t yet made my mind up how many I should aim for today, though.

My favourite daydreams ping through my mind as I lay there, letting the rabbit ears gently pulsate on, on, off, off against my clit. Just above it, actually, a bunny ear on either side and with just the right amount of pressure. Not too little, not too much, and I don’t bother with the shaft movement settings much. For me, the shaft is just to make me feel full. Stuffed. Like I’m being fucked by something. Clitoral stimulation feels fantastic, but my orgasm always seems so much more intense when there’s something thick and firm actually inside of me. Length, I’m not too bothered about … but girth? I can’t give that up. I like dicks how I like them, and thick is how I like them. (Even “plastic” dicks.)

Speaking of dicks, there’s one dick in particular I think about the most. One dick, one situation, always. It’s my go-to daydream when I’m finding my climax hard to come by, and it works every single time. I don’t know why it works, and I’m not going to admit the specifics to you today, but it just works, without fail. That’s the dick I think about. The without-fail dick. Not the face or the body or the actual man attached, just the dick. That beautiful, veiny dick that always got hard on demand and never let me down. Just thinking about being fucked by it makes my cunt twinge. It’s happening right now, as I write. The thought of his body slamming into me, that dick pounding away at me, always makes me fucking hot. 

My mind goes blank when I do actually come, every thought in my head blown out, and I find myself holding my breath. It’s like fireworks have gone off in my body, a sexual release, a frustration release, and an anger release, all at once. It clears my mind completely and makes me forget how to function, a rolling tsunami of pleasure and confusion that starts at my cunt and crashes over the rest of me from there. I can almost follow it flowing through my thighs and stomach, calves and arms, toes and neck, and that’s when it all goes black. Black with bright, white flashes even though my eyes are clamped tightly shut. It’s almost too much. It’s close to being panic-inducing. Almost too good to bear. But I do bear it, and the euphoric, relaxed, calm feelings on the other side are so worth it. They’re much better than any drug I’ve ever experimented with. Coming is almost a drug for me; I crave those euphoric feelings daily. I’m definitely addicted to them.

As the feeling subsides, my fingers crick and crack as I uncurl them from the bedsheets and around my toy. My knuckles are white and stiff from the pressure I exerted on them and my toes almost have cramp from the way they’re tightly curled over. As I un-clench every part of my body, relaxing my jaw and un-tensing my shoulders, I can feel the come-fog lifting, whatever stresses and frustrations I had before floating away with it. My thoughts return. My breathing slows down, along with my heart rate. I feel better.

As I reach to pull the toy from the wet mess between my legs, I can feel that twinge again. Once is never enough, not for me.

So, I do it again.

Two, maybe three times.

ENJOYED THIS? HOW ABOUT ONE OF THESE:

I MISS MY TWENTIES

IT COULD HAVE BEEN A GREAT NIGHT

INTIMACY, BUT NOT SEX.

Featured image by Emiliano Vittoriosi on Unsplash