I actually did get wet just reading the description online:
I love this “little visitor” to my clitoris. Women know that the ‘hotspot’ is just a little to the right or left of the hooded head of our pleasure zone and this little instrument was like a homing beacon to ‘the target.’ I wet myself just looking at the picture and thinking about what it was like to unwrap the package the first time. You can also slip it inside after cumming and let it release post coital tensions. It is like being thoroughly fucked after getting off…letting your man ‘take you’ after you have cum repeatedly…what is better than that??
I had to have it, so I keyed in my Pay Pal information and anxiously awaited its arrival four working days later, which happened to be a Tuesday when my husband was out of town on a business trip. The plain brown box was on the side of the driveway as I pulled in from picking my daughter up from school. I nonchalantly scooped it up and brought it inside, tucking it under my bed, my heart quickening a bit as I thought of pulling the box back out after she went to bed.
The thought of it popped into my mind a few times while I was helping with homework, cooking, doing dishes, putting my kid to bed. I enjoyed nurturing the thought of finding the “hotspot” women were supposed to know that I had not yet found.
My husband called to check in, but I didn’t mention what was on my mind. He was having an eventful day and I was as interested in the details as he was in telling them to me. He concluded that he was going out with the guys for a bit.
I slid the box out from its hiding place. I scratched at the tape to get one end free and pulled it off, opening the flaps on top. It was surrounded in thick brown grocery-bag-type paper. I fished it out and held it in my hand: my new vibrator.
I plugged it in and flipped it on. It was noisy and vibrated so intensely that it made the hand I was holding it with ticklish. I had had only one vibrator before it which I enjoyed greatly, but I was always disappointed as the batteries slowly wore down and I went through pack after pack. This replacement seemed very promising indeed. The word “industrial” seemed appropriate.
I lit my favorite cinnamon candles and turned on The Dave Matthews Band while shutting my door. I can sometimes get excited just listening to his lyrics – they’re so very sensual. I caught myself actually humming. I took off my sweats and underwear in one swoop and lay on my back propped up on pillows on top of my bed. I savored the feeling of my flannel bedspread on my butt cheeks and legs. I swam around a bit for fun, rubbing against the softness and thinking about powering up an intense buzz. I thought about what it would be like to have a mirror on the ceiling and laughed at myself.
I immediately thought of pulling off my tank top and feeling the vibrator on my nipples first, but I was already wet and felt a longing in my clit. Was there a “hotspot” there? I turned my new toy on “low” and touched it right on top of my slit. It was intense. I had never felt such a strong vibrator. AC was definitely better than a “C” battery. “Industrial” it was indeed. At first it was a bit too intense. It felt good, but I kept moving it around to different spots because I felt overwhelmed holding it in the same place for longer than 30 seconds or so. Even my hand was feeling affected and tingly.
I climbed onto my knees and straddled two pillows, balancing the vibrator between sticking almost straight up. I shifted my weight from side to side pushing against the vibrator, wiggling around on top of it doggy-style, not penetrating, but rubbing promisingly. I then took off my tank top, because I wanted to feel my breasts moving openly as I undulated. I wrapped the cord around the arch of my foot to hold it in place. I could feel different sensations as I moved. Every part of my body was aware of what I was feeling from my knees and hands against the flannel to the pillow cases rubbing on my inner thighs and my dark long curly hair brushing against the sides of my breasts. Every now and again, I would lung forward, touch my forehead to the flannel and rub my erect nipples on the pillow cases. I excitedly marked the feeling of my butt flung up in the air. The music masked a bit of the buzzing noise and the melody gave me a rhythm to float on. I was definitely enjoying myself.
Just as I was feeling the moisture building and moving down my inner thighs produced from the rubbing, the phone rang. My husband had returned to his hotel room. At first I was annoyed to be interrupted until I realized that even though I had I turned my new friend off to answer the phone, I was still buzzing. Thinking of how good I felt even when the vibrator was off made me suddenly spasm. I squeezed my inner muscles together tightly as I felt liquid run down my leg. Suddenly aware that I was holding the phone, I tried to sound normal. I shuddered and moved the mouthpiece away.
I jumped up for a towel and standing cleared my mind enough to comprehend his words. I turned the music down a few bars with several mouse clicks.
I was happy when my husband continued to talk about the events of his day. He didn’t amsterdam shemale seem to notice something at home was not quite as he may have expected it. I returned to our bed and lay naked on the center on my stomach with my knees bent and feet fiddling behind me, making air patterns to the lightened music. We chatted. I responded expressively, following every word, thinking about his lips moving as he said them, wondering what he was doing with his hands. I felt delicious and was enjoying squirming around and touching myself absent-mindedly. I was definitely preoccupied thinking of everything he said with a sexual overtone. It was fun to play in my secret world budding fleshy images in my mind like popping fireworks while life as normal was on the other end of the phone.
I rolled onto my back, letting my head hang slightly just cresting the edge of the bed and fought gravity to lift and bring my right hand lazily to my lips. I traced them seductively, willing him to feel it over the phone. I took special note of the vibrations on my index finger’s tip as I spoke. I longed for my new toy, and a giggle slipped from my throat when I plotted that I could pass it off as a passing jet. The vibrations in my throat even felt heightened. I suddenly covered my mouth, trying to pull the sound back. My eyes suddenly snapped back into focus. The giggle was out of context.
If he suspected, he didn’t disclose. He shifted topic: he was going to bed and would turn on his cam. Did I want to turn mine on? I told him I would, but I decided I didn’t want him to suddenly come upon me naked and sprawled out on our bed with my blissful postal delivery and impish grin, so I put my sweats and tank top back on. My underwear was wet and clinging, slipping into my lips. I thought it felt wonderful. I pushed my vibrator under a pillow, slipped on my headset, turned on the lights and placed my cam on the nightstand on my side of the bed, revealing my profile as I sat propped up on pillows, my laptop warming my legs through my pants. I could feel my hair arranging itself around me on my spaghetti-strap tank top, brushing my shoulders and arms as it fell. I was pleased with the image and clicked on the button to invite him. He accepted and turned on his cam. He was in a similar position with a similar angle, but he was naked. Again a giggle erupted from me, but this time he laughed back. He feigned embarrassment, and I wondered if I looked guilty while I shot him my best utterly shocked look.
“How dare you!” I said with my eyes.
He too was in bed with his laptop, except his laptop was on the side of him and his cock was in front of him. He was already handling himself, coaching his dick to stand. I too placed my laptop beside me, then turned to my side facing the cam and placed a pillow between my legs, pulling it snuggly up into my throbbing pussy and rubbing it rhythmically. I could feel my moistness spreading around my underwear. I felt so hungry. I looked directly in the cam and smiled encouragingly at him for his accomplishment. I could tell that he liked what he saw and I felt even more of a pleasure rush. I moaned and heard him moan in return. He too was on a headset and was blissfully “hands-free.”
I was enjoying humping my pillow, slowly rubbing up and down until I felt my hardened nipples brushing the edge of the pillow, so I pulled the straps of my tank top down my arms and around my undulating stomach. I felt the top scrunch down and encircle my waist while my nipples grew even more aware in the air. I brushed on the pillow’s edge and the flannel bedspread. Again I moaned thinking of how good it felt. My husband appeared to be stroking faster, a bit more serious now in the intensity of his pulls. I began to notice how full he looked and the veins protruding thickly.
His fingers were also noticeably thick and grasped expertly powered by the sinews of his muscles. His tips appeared to be dancing on his dick — sliding, squeezing, pulling — performing to his own rhythm, dancing with himself with intimate knowledge of what he himself would both feel pleasure from and for giving. Looping cyclically in his giving and taking of passion, his face was beautifully expressive in each breath. He sucked in and set his expression, frozen and silent; then he bore down and breathed out roughly, every now and again pushing out a word, extending it unsteadily, “f-u-c-k.”
I imagined straddling him and riding on his dick when I pushed up to pull my pants off. I then got up onto my knees, dramatically pulling my underwear up into my slit. It felt nice rubbing inside my lips and I focused my eyes onto the lens of my cam trying to express my pleasure. His breathing continued, a metronome for his stroking task. While I felt thoroughly satisfied on my pussy lips, I wanted to feel a presence push inside me, spreading my lips, and stretching my walls, something on which I could squeeze my muscles and feel it nudging, sliding, rubbing inside me. I looked away from the lens to eye the empty Mike’s Hard Lemonade bottle on my night stand as I wondered how glass felt.
Playfully, I pulled my tank top and underwear down, pausing to watch my belly button undulate on cam, and flashed a mischievous rotterdam shemale smile.
“What are you about to do?” he asked.
I dramatically tossed the tank and undies and picked up the bottle for the cam.
“MMMMMMMMMM,” he responded.
Facing the cam I squatted on the slim top rim of the bottle and slowly felt its hard coldness slide into me. I pushed my hands on the tops of my thighs and wiggled my way further and further onto the base while pausing every now and again to lift out and settle into it slowly, savoring myself slipping against the glass. My thighs burned and I fell to my knees. At first it felt too hard and I longed for his dick, but I shifted my pelvis and found a good position that consumed me. I was balanced perfectly on the balls of my feet, heaving my hips up and down for a song, enjoying the lift and pace set by the melody until the song ended and I impulsively lunged even further forward, slapping my open hands flat in front on me. When the bottle began to slide out, I wrapped my feet around it, drawing it back in, squeezing its absolute hardness between the soles of my feet. I could feel my wetness on the top portion of the base and I closed my eyes and lowered my face onto the bed, my butt high in the air. I had almost forgotten he was there until he spoke.
“Let me see.” He requested in my ear.
I rotated my butt toward the cam and began fucking the bottle in earnest. My butt looked well developed and firm on cam. I was very happy with the tightness of my skin and my muscle tone, and I hoped he noticed. It felt so good that I again let my head fall to the bed with my eyes closed and just moaned. I could hear his breathing increase as he whispered “O-h, f-u-c-k,” the vibration of jacking off fraying his voice and extending the words.
“Slide it in further.” He encouraged.
I pulled myself atop my bent knees and slowly lowered down, deeper and deeper, wondering how far down I could go and enjoying how it looked on my cam. It was odd to see it and do it at the same time. I was actually enjoying watching myself, and I pondered the looping of enjoying myself enjoying myself, trying to spin the logic faster and faster and somehow thereby intensify the volume. I considered what would look sexy as I slowly slid my index finger over one of my small breasts seductively, stopping on my nipple and pinching it while carefully watching myself in the cam and glancing at his cam to see how it was affecting him. I admired the very slight fall of my breast’s profile, the round fullness of the bottom curve with the small tuck into the topmost part of my ribs.
He was focused and stroking happily. I didn’t want to break the spell. Again I considered his dick penetrating me, imagining the head pushing hungrily in and the delicious rub of his bulging head pulling out before quickly plunging back. I wanted to fuck him exactly as he was. I imagined walking over to him.
I whispered, “I want to crawl up the bed, straddle you, and lower down slowly while watching your eyes. I would cuff you to that fancy hotel headboard and fuck you as I pleased. Then I would go find a sexy maid.”
He smiled and raised up to his knees, pushing his hips out in front of him and repositioning his hand at its task. He smiled.
“What are you about to do?” I teased as I began playing with my other breast, turning so he could see both.
He moved closer to his cam so that I could see how his dick was pulsing. He stopped stroking it for a moment and rolled it around in front of the cam for its close-up.
“MMMMMMMMMMM.” I responded.
“Do you want this really?”
“Oh, yes, very much.”
“Show me where I can put it.”
I quickly assembled on all fours, my butt to the cam, reached between my legs, and rubbed my lips in quick circles, anchoring my middle and index fingers to my inner lip ridge with a fair amount of pressure until I found that pleasurable click. The vibrator had heightened the feeling quite a bit. Was this the fabled hot spot? I began rubbing up and down as quickly as I could in squatted strokes until I was utterly frustrated longing for my vibrator.
I brought my head around and shot an experimental look at the cam.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Something came in the mail today.” I confessed.
“Really?” He knew me, so I could tell that he had probably guessed, besides which he had noticed that I was browsing an adult website one evening in bed a few days prior on my laptop.
I popped my new purchase out from under the pillow and smiled a guilty smile. It felt substantial in my hand. I really had splurged and it looked very large and very purple with its curved tip. The size and the ridiculous color sent a flash of embarrassment over me, and I drew my limbs close, hugging in and giggling like a teenager.
He laughed out loud gently in that “yes, that would be your choice” tone. I felt myself emerging from my momentarily self-conscious withdrawal. I could feel an inside stir as I imagined it on my pussy again, but I was stalled again – this time thinking about the ridiculous noise it would make when I switched it on. I mumbled something about changing the music first, blog shemale clicked on my Sheryl Crow files, and turned it up.
“Geez, loud enough?” he asked.
“Probably not,” I laughed.
“Uh oh.” was his only response.
I propped up my pillows and settled onto my back, spreading my legs and flipping the switch. Aw, it was just as loud as I’d remembered, if not worse. I thought, “Ready for take off!” Somehow, however, that seemed to impress my husband as he drew his breath implying , “More power! Eh – eh – eh”-Tool-Time-style. My mind instantly shifted from comedy, however, as I lightly touched down. I tilted my pelvis upward and shifted, pushing a bit harder, trying to find the place on the right side of my lip that my finger had clicked.
I swiveled my pelvis and slid all around on the head until I did find a place of bliss. It was alongside my right lip, outside. I leaned onto it and pushed it directly against myself. It felt so amplified, I reflexed away. I pushed on again – pulled away – pushed on. It felt delicious. I pushed on and willed myself to stay. Tempted to pull back, I tightened my muscles and focused. I froze, my mind circling around me at first with observations — What was my husband thinking? How did I look? Was the music too loud? – until I pulled my mind back into focus on the right side of me, my clit. Undeniable that it was earth-shaking. I felt my eyes rolling, fluttering as I blinked. I held my breath, completely frozen. I stretched out my free left hand and imagined myself riding an orgasm as one would ride a mechanical bull – hold on, hold on; don’t let go.
It was a long time in coming, gathering itself and flowing and ebbing, like the tide. Just when I was sure it would come, it flowed out slightly but began for shore again, over and over. I began coaxing it in, wanting it, hoping for that really big freak wave to wash up.
“What are you doing?” snapped me out.
I gasped and relaxed. I had been holding my breath and my calves were cramping from the intensity of my focus. I switched off my new toy, which was getting a bit warm to the touch. I again began to breathe.
“MMMM. MMMM. MMMMM. I purred” as I rubbed my legs together, shifting to my side to see his cam more clearly. He too was frozen but grinning.
“I guess I went over the edge, or at least was heading there.” I confessed and looked down at my wet hand and toy with a flash of embarrassment.
“That was SO sexy,” was his reply. “You’re killing me.”
My courage restored, I thought of how hot I felt. I hoped I looked at good as I felt, and I shifted my legs in as sexy a manner as I could while admiring the cut of my calves. I was happy with what I saw, and I wanted him to be affected. I had an idea and went to my closet.
“Hello?” he asked in a comic tone. “Talk about leaving me hanging, literally.”
I returned with my never-to-be-seen-in-public fuck-me shoes. They would never be seen in public because I was sure they weren’t made to actually walk on. They were a clear silverish strappy creation with incredibly thinly spiked 6-inch heels. I thought they looked wonderful against my leopard-print flannel. I again curled up next to my laptop, cam side, seductively rubbing my legs together like a cricket.
He had propped up on his bed again, leaning against pillows and stroking rapidly.
“Do it again with the shoes on,” he stated flatly. “You know you like to be a little slut for me.”
The thought excited me. Being a slut meant indulging myself to the fullest. He wanted me to let go completely into the pleasure, no second-guessing. A slut would do all sorts of things that I might not normally do.
I assumed the same position I had before on my back, switched on my vibrator, spread my legs, and began looking for the same “hot spot,” although it wasn’t too hard to find because my pulse was steadily beating in it. I felt it with my fingertip just as strong as a wrist or neck pulse point. I reached for my cam and placed it close wondering if I could see it pulsing. Yes.
“It’s pulsing,” I informed him.
“Oh.” He leaned forward to his side and squinted a bit at his computer screen. He grinned with a trailing laugh, “MMMMMMMMMM. I guess that thing is as powerful as it sounds.”
“It is wonderful.” I replied, replacing my cam to the night stand and positioning myself sprawled out on my back. I wanted it. I tilted my head back over the top of the pillow, staring straight up and again thinking of that mirror on my ceiling. I closed my eyes and positioned my purple passion exactly where I had left off. I pushed onto the spikes of the heels and raised my butt off the bed, arching my back, pulling the vibrator into exactly the right spot with both my hands. Fluidly squirming, I shimmered on and off intangibly like heat rising and distorting. I drew into myself, squeezing my core into a tightly-balled focal point — my pussy. I was passingly aware of the sexy feel of my arched back and outstretching nipples, but I wanted to only think of my pussy. I hoped he wouldn’t say anything. I closed my eyes and continued to draw in, pulling and craving. My thighs burned and my muscles began to quiver under the stress, but I kept drawing passion more and more desperately like a black hole demanding to be filled. I imagined swirling miscellaneous items being sucked in and disappearing. My head fought to push against the wall for balance as I slipped down in increments.