Blog : All alone at last

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6/27/2022 10:52 am

All alone at last

All alone at last
I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been all alone the house. say it was a rare occurrence these days was an understatement. I’d even switched off the incessant background chatter of the television. The silence felt like an old friend. long absence quickly forgiven, it welcomed me back with an embrace filled with tantalizing potential.

After simply enjoying the revitalizing silence for a few minutes, I wondered what I should do make the best use of this alone time. The answer was pretty obvious.
The decadence of being able pleasure myself elsewhere than our bedroom’s safe haven, or behind a locked bathroom door, was supremely arousing by itself – and I hadn’t even started yet. I felt my clit tingle beneath my skinny jeans, under the lace of my G-string. Suddenly I was hyper aware of my breasts, the hardening of my nipples, and the fact pussy lips felt like they wanted part, begging be filled and pleasured.

I had least an hour yet, no need rush. The front and back doors were locked, so I didn’t have worry about being walked in on. The lounge curtains, however, were wide open, with sunlight streaming in from the street outside. Although it wasn’t a massively busy road, there were occasional passerby. I imagined being spotted by one of them walking past, sat on the sofa, legs spread and hands thrust down jeans pleasuring aching cunt. OK, I was definitely getting wet now, and I was definitely going have do something about it.

The rareness of this silent solitude made me feel like I didn’t want share it with anything. No vibrators, no lube. This afternoon was all just for , alone with imagination, fingers, arousal. Besides, sticky wet fingers were easier hide, if necessary, than a vibrator.I unbuttoned jeans, and slid fingers down between the denim and lace underwear. Letting fingertips find, and gently, teasingly stroke over labia, then circle over the now-hard nub of clit, I enjoyed the sensation of breasts being pushed closer together, nipples rubbing against the scratchy lace fabric of bra, as hand explored the fabric-restricted area between legs.

The subtle bondage effect of knuckles being restrained by the extra tight denim wasn’t lost on , fact I was quite enjoying it, as frustrating as it was. It’s a strange flavor, sexually arousing frustration which is self-inflicted. Deliberately heightening every inch of eroticism, forcing your mind the peak of self-awareness, staving off the pinnacle of self-pleasure and taking the scenic route a carefully crafted, body and mind-crashing climax.

With other hand I pulled breasts free from the confines of the lace bra, so they were liberated from the fabric but still held in the scaffolds of the wire cups beneath t-shirt. I could see the soft points of nipples through the cotton material, and mercilessly teased myself even further with a quick tweak to each one. Tingles like lightning fired between them and my screaming clit, which I still softly circled in-between fingering the wet fabric covering my pussy.

If anyone had walked by the uncovered window yet, I hadn’t noticed. The wall clock ticked in the silence, its beat of scandalized tuts the soundtrack to my wanton self-pleasure.

I wanted more, so as to savor every glorious sensation, I peeled the lace from my hot, excited pussy with my increasingly sticky fingertips. My mini-massage so far had caused the lace to press even more tightly than usual into my smooth vulva, and there was an exhilarating ripple of sensation every time another millimeter of sodden fabric detached from my puffy, parted lips.

Pulling it to the side, my desire for satisfaction overriding my patience, I scooped the wetness pooled at my opening and used it to lubricate my internal exploration – now unhindered by lace. I felt so hot, so slippery, so tight and intimate. The heel of my palm rubbed joyously against my urgently needy clit, causing a surge of orgasmic sensation back through my body terminating at the twin points of my torturous teased nipples.

I wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer. I forced myself to no attention if anyone was walking past, hoped for the best, and let private fantasies flow through imagination raw and unfiltered. The most shocking thoughts from the darkest parts of mind, contributed by stories, movies, friends and own perversions. Filthy, disgusting thoughts, outrageous images, humiliations and power and control and abuse and degradation and all the things must never be.

Abandoning saturated, finger-fucked pussy, I used liquid arousal attend not-so-patient clit. This is where it was going emanate from, this is where orgasm would be brought life, and it wasn’t going take too much longer. index and middle finger easily slipped over erect, exposed and straining clit, slippery hot pussy juice forming the perfect lube. Faster and faster I moved fingertips lightly over slicked clit, other hand tweaking nipples here and there an extra layer of stimulation. Over the top of clit, then the side. Dipping fingers down again into hot, tight entrance, gathering more of the copious lubricant and returning flick fingertips over nerve-ending central once more.

I couldn’t hold back any more. Forgetting everything else but the last few fantasies dirtying up mind, and the sensation of fingertips slipping with incredible speed over slick clitoris, I gave myself over to my orgasm. I still didn’t cry too loud – I guess I’m too well-trained by house-sharing now. But I did cause a wet patch on the sofa which later proved difficult to explain, especially when coupled with such a smug, self-satisfied smile.


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