Crisp. The first real sign of autumn.
And, now that the clocks were set back an hour, sunset wasn’t far off.
The fluttery feeling in my stomach got me antsy.
Checking email was enough of a distraction that I didn’t pace. Seeing that it was finally dark out, I shut down the computer and undressed. After slipping into the raggedy robe that hung by the door, I stepped outside.
The small, brick-lined patio was snug against the house, bordered by a low wall backed by evergreens nearly two stories tall. The crepe myrtles at the back of the yard still had a few leaves and blocked the view from the alley—just in case some pervert was using night vision goggles.
Total privacy. I had scoped it from all directions before I bought the house. At night and with the lights out, my little outdoor refuge was safe from prying eyes.
Of course, I’m a bit of a screamer, so I had that to contend with. But no one had ever called the cops, and so far no funny looks from the neighbors.
Tonight, I would extend my season.
I’m the rugged, outdoorsy type, so I took off the robe and took the three steps to the patio and my Adirondack chair that faced the yard. My nipples hardened as the cool—nearly cold—night air washed over me. I wasn’t about to let a change of season cramp my style.
I’m a nudist, dammit. One must persevere.
It was my new $99 fire pit from Home Depot. As I lit the pile of crumpled newspaper and kindling I had artfully arranged earlier that afternoon, my mind’s eye pictured how I looked—my pink nude body, the stark roundness of my protruding ass, my thighs spread, pudenda gaping, nipples at attention—as I squatted in front of the round fire pit.
Settling back in the chair, I watched the fire come alive. Eyes half closed, my hand moved between my legs.
Just as I nudged my outer lips apart, the warmth hit. I spread my knees, catching the firelight and heat on my inner thighs. Cool air, sucked toward the pit by the licking flames, moved against the back of my legs and I shivered.
The tip of my index finger probed my vagina and pulled some juices toward my clit. Without thinking, my left hand found my right breast. I stroked and circled my erect nipple between thumb and forefinger as I slowly, languidly, began to masturbate.
Slouched in the chair, my legs were splayed like the girl in the featured video on Pornhub. Without thinking, I had two fingers deep in my pussy, thrusting.
Whoa. What’s this?
The pool of wetness at the base of my spine started to bubble and froth. I bit my lip and sat up, still thrusting, and surveyed my yard to make sure no pervert had jumped the wall. All clear. I settled back.
This was going to be epic.
I ran my fingers along my slit, eliciting a deep moan. My clit swelled against the clammy nest of my palm. I entered the zone, thrilled by the dance of firelight on my skin, the acrid smell of smoke and burning pine, the swirl of cool and warm air, the decadence in fucking myself in a dark corner of my yard.
My arousal was so intense it bordered on painful. Normally, I would pull back, relax the clit stimulation and work the edge of my looming orgasm. Tonight, though, with a soft breeze raising goosebumps on my arms as my breasts and thighs soaked up the heat of the fire, I couldn’t hold back.
And, really, no need. One orgasm is rarely enough.
So I surrendered to the pain and delight, knowing that soon the delicious tension would be released. Knees raised and feet off the ground, I pushed three fingers into my hole as I rubbed my clit faster and faster.
Pussy muscles clenched against my fingers as I thrust deep inside at an auspicious angle, past the second knuckle, my hand awash in fluids. My clit throbbed as I flicked and circled it.
A firmness welled up inside me as my hands pulled my orgasm out of my body. I couldn’t stop. Half my hand was in my pussy. As I slumped in the chair, my ass hung off the edge, my feet danged in the air, the heat of the fire warm on the soles.
My torso jerked up violently as I came, neurons throughout my body snapping in unison.
Three rooster tails of girl cum squirted out of me, splatting on the bricks. A fourth stream, somewhat weaker, splashed on the fire pit. A cloud of steam rose in the air, the light dimmed, what remained of the fire sputtered, and the heat stopped.
I stared across my ruined body, wet, swollen and red. Looking between my dangling feet and over my tangled mat of pubic hair, I watched, dope-brained, as the fire sputtered out, extinguished by my orgasm.
I staggered to my feet, knees weak, grabbed my robe, and put the lid on the fire pit.
Did I have another one inside me? I’d find out under the covers of my bed.
Sex blogger Penny from Penny for Your (Dirty) Thoughts has an interesting blog post worth sharing (since you’re a reader of my blog and probably stick things in your vagina on a regular basis; on the other hand, who doesn’t?):
“There are what seems like about a million factors than can contribute to getting a vaginal infection. The vagina has a delicate pH balance, and anything that upsets that can cause an overgrowth of yeast or bad bacteria. You’re more likely to get yeast infections around menstruation, if you use hormonal birth control, if you wear tight clothing/non-cotton underwear, among other things. Add sex toys to the mix, and you can potentially open yourself to the possibility of infection. Don’t worry though–you can use sex toys safely if you take some precautions. Most of these tips are focused around the vagina, but #1 & 2 apply to butts/mouths as well.”
Read more here.
AlterNet recently posted an article about female sexuality. Being a sucker for lists (most people are), I couldn’t resist reading the 9 Coolest Things About Female Sexuality. Personally, I’d say nine is low-balling it–yes, as an over-sexed female I’m prejudiced–but I found some interesting things in the piece. Like number three, which I definitely would’ve made number one: multiple orgasms. Here’s a pull-out quote from Masters and Johnson: “As contrasted with the male’s usual inability to have more than one orgasm in a short period, many females, especially when clitorally stimulated, can regularly have five or six full orgasms within a matter of minutes.”
I’ll vouch for that (can you say “Hitachi Magic Wand”?). Personally, I can have multiple orgasms vaginally, too. (Sorry to brag, but I’m sure I’m not alone.) Then there’s this reassuring (and re-confirming) quote from M & J: “The supply of blood and edema fluid to the pelvis is inexhaustible. Consequently … the more orgasms a woman has, the more she can have. To all intents and purposes, the human female is sexually insatiable in the presence of the highest degrees of sexual satisfaction.”
See? Practice makes perfect. All that masturbation (starting around age nine for me) pays off. Further down, number five, is the clitoris. Did you know that the clit is the only human organ designed exclusively for pleasure? And that it’s not this tiny little button, but a much larger structure that extends deep below the vulva and rivals the size of a penis? Explains a lot. And since the clit has twice as many nerve endings as a dick, well, you do the math.
Number eight is cute: No messy clean up after masturbation. True, compared to a guy spewing a wad of jism four feet into the wall (and sometimes my hair, ugh). I’d still lay that curvy ass on a towel, ladies. Things can get quite sodden down there when the jillin’ gets hot.
Number nine is breasts. What can you say? They’re wonderful. Artistically, they represent human beauty at its highest. No, I’ve never had an orgasm from breast and/or nipple stimulation, but some women can, the article says. That’s nice, but I’m not jealous. My tits are major foreplay playgrounds, both for myself and for my lovers. And I love holding, stroking and licking another woman’s breasts.
Like I said, I wouldn’t have stopped at nine. Ass, anyone? Labia? Nape of neck? Lady lips (the ones on the mouth)? And, not to be gross, the anus is filled with nerve endings, too. At the very least, think of it as a turbo button when you’re stimulating a lady friend between her legs. Make sure she’s really worked up and there’s lots of juice to lubricate her hole. Time it right and she’ll hit the moon.
Did I miss anything? What would you add to the list?
A perfect morning is when I wake slowly, knowing that I don’t have to go anywhere, and I feel that little spark inside that, if I fan it right, will ignite in a flame that will demand I pleasure myself.
Ideally, my cat will be snoozing at the foot of the bed, still too early to pester me for breakfast. It’s really nice if it’s still dark, which will make it easier to go back to sleep after I orgasm. I’ll curl up on my side and pull my knees up. As I lazily swim up toward consciousness, I’m aware of the small flame flickering in my pelvis. On my side, I can feel the weight of my breast. I move my hand and cup it, feeling its heft. Yeah, it’s small, but even a small breast has some heft. If it feels good (and it almost always does), I’ll feather my fingers on my nipple. Wake up, little nipple. Let’s play.
If I’m on my left side and it’s my right breast I’m playing with, no problem. That’s the more erogenous one. The weight of my boob and the stirring as my nipple awakens radiates a warmth that travels down my chest to my abdomen. I carefully roll over and shift to my back, rearrange my legs and slide my hand to my belly, just above my mound. By now, I’m rolling my erect nipple between my thumb and forefinger—and I’m awake enough to know I’m horny as fuck and about to take myself.
I slide my hand down between my legs. I usually sleep nude, so I rest it on my vulva, feeling my soft pubic hair and the sleepy warmth between my thighs. I slide my fingertips around my labia, very gently, for as long as it takes to feel the sexual energy well up. This may take ten minutes or longer. But that’s only a guess. I’m too sleepy and comfortable and indulgent to look at the clock. I rest my hand over my vulva and my clitoris swells under the clammy nest of my palm. Just wait, little clit. Not yet.
If I haven’t already, I spread my legs and slide two fingers down along the outsides of my outer labia. I gently knead my outer lips between the lengths of my fingers, pressing them together with my first knuckles. My pussy is still dry, although I can sense what feels like a pool of moisture gathering at the base of my spine. That’s my approaching orgasm, still a ways off. By now, I’m massaging my breast and torturing my nipple with my fingers as I start to play with my pussy in earnest.
To wake me up down there and get the blood circulating, I smack my labia with my finger tips. I start gently and slowly, beginning above my clit and moving down to my vagina. Up and down, over and over, I tap my pussy with with my fingertips, slowly increasing the intensity of the strikes. It’s not long before the lips start to swell and separate. After a few hard strikes to really wake things up, I move to the next phase.
By now, my clit is distended and begging to be touched. Since I’m still not wet, I put my index finger in my mouth and swirl it with my tongue. I reach down with my wet finger and touch the entrance to my vagina. Usually it just takes a few little circles around the hole and I’m in. If it feels right, I insert two fingers into my pussy. The squishy sound as I penetrate myself always makes me smile. The floodgates open and I slide my fingers up to my clit, spreading my copious juices the length of my throbbing vulva.
Let the masturbating begin.
Alas, this morning wasn’t like that, although it should have been. I had the day off—my usual day off is Monday, but had to switch it this week to Friday—but my plan precluded any early morning self-pleasuring. By doing some errands on a weekday, I’d save a lot of time over the next couple days by not fighting the weekend crowds.
I was back just after ten and hit the computer. After a half hour of checking the porn on my Tumblr feed, I remembered that I hadn’t masturbated. (Translated: I got real horny looking at those pictures.) I arrived at a stopping point and returned to my bed. It’s late morning, and I’m thinking a little quickie and then lunch.
It’s never that easy. For expediency’s sake, I was going to forgo a vibrator and just take myself by hand. But I couldn’t shake the image of a soft porn picture of a beautiful nude wife on her hands and knees, her gorgeous behind toward the camera, her round bottom and chubby labia on full display, and her pretty, smiling face turned back to her husband. It was a Polaroid, the real deal, an amateur shot. She had pubic hair! Hey, that could be me! I set up a mirror at the foot of the bed, took off my clothes and got on the bed, my ass toward the mirror. Down on my elbows, it was easy to look back between my arms and watch myself masturbate in the mirror. I didn’t look like that bride, I guess, but it propelled my jill-off beyond the routine.
Well, that took an hour. I dressed, went out, grabbed some lunch and came back. After some real work, actual erotica writing, I checked Tumblr again (it’s a source for my blog, where I post retro nudes, smutty pictures and snarky captions). This time, I was subjected to a run of photos of smacked female bottoms, all of them red and some of them with welts. Hot! I wanted to be spanked! It didn’t take too long before I was lubricating and sticking my hand between my legs. Back to bed, this time with a vibrator, and I took myself in under a half hour. I didn’t even undress, just scrunched down my jeans and panties, splayed on my back like a whore.
I’m such a slut. But a happy slut. It’s a rare day I don’t masturbate. But it’s great day when I can do it twice. And, since it’s not even six o’clock, who knows? Three’s my lucky number!
Nobody asked, but there you are, a day in the life of an erotica writer. And, of course, I’m blogging it.
I’d love to hear about your adventures in masturbation. Drop me a line.