One of the things I love most about blogging is the amazing submissions that you get sent from time to time. This wonderful piece by the fabulous K.C. Cave (@kccave) was no exception.
It definitely got my juices flowing, and I’m certain it will have a similar effect on everyone who reads it.
Chloë
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I Touch Myself
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 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.
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