As it turns out; I’ve been having the equivalent of missionary position sex with my vibrator.

Who knew!

But fortunately, that’s what the interwebs are for. To expand our collective wisdoms. And teach us stuffs. Like how to get the most out of one’s collection of B.OB.s*.

And let me tell you, necessity is indeed the mother of invention. And inventive I have been.



Now that we’ve got that out of the way, the other side effect of lonesomeness, is this…

(P.S. Click ‘read more’ at your peril.  It’s very NSFW and horribly badly written, but fuggit, I like to overshare. Also. Don’t click this if you’re a friend and this might embarrass you. I warned you!  Don’t do it.  Really).

In my head
The room was lit only by the moonlight through the window. His voice was as soft as a caress.

Take off your dress.

She lifted the dress from the bottom.

No. Not like that. Undo the buttons.

She hesitated. Dropped the hem, and reached for the top button on the dress. Felt the swell of her breast beneath it. Her breath caught and, slowly, she undid each button until the dress fell open and slid from her shoulders.

Now your bra.

She undid the clasp, slipped each strap from her shoulders. But still held the fabric to her. Eyes closed. Shivering.

Drop it.

She let the bra go, but kept an arm against her breasts.

Now your panties.

A slow blush bloomed on her cheeks.

Yes. Take them off now.

She had no choice but to hook the soft cotton from her sides and pull them down. Stepping out of them, she stood naked in the dark, trying to keep her modesty with her hands. Gooseflesh raised her skin and her nipples hardened, against her will.

Christ, you’re beautiful, he growled.

Walk to the end of the bed. And bend over. Elbows on the duvet.

Unconsciously, she shook her head.

Do what I say.

She followed his instruction. Feeling the way her position raised her arse, and made her breasts hang, heavy, nipples grazing the bed. Felt the stretch in her legs. Her blush deepened.

Open your legs. Wider.

She did as she was told, a rush of slick wetness betraying her. Felt her nipples start to ache. Felt exposed, embarrassed, aroused beyond imagining.

Now touch yourself.

She whimpered, half in desire, half in shame.

I want to see you touch yourself.

She reached a hand between her spread legs and felt the silky slide of her folds. Tentatively rubbed until her fingers slipped deeper. She moaned again. Found the hard stud of her clit and traced circles around it. Felt it swell beneath her touch. Every stroke an ache, a deep pleasure.

Her breath quickened. She rubbed harder. Squirmed against her hand, her breasts rubbing against the bed covers. She felt his eyes on her arse, her pussy, her hands. Shame crushed by rising desire, she pushed her bum out further so that he could see her. Began to pant with the building heat. She was close, thighs shuddering, her eyes closed and her head dropped forward.

Ask me. 

Her voice was ragged as she begged in a whisper, Please?! Please, Sir. Can I cum?


*Battery Operated Boyfriends. BOBs.  Useful things.  When your brain is on fire.

Tagged , ,

11 thoughts on “Vesuvius

  1. Very well written indeed, not embarrasing (at least for me). I must go visit my BOB now since Jim is at work. * joins alone with cats in fanning face*

    • Dolce says:

      At least you have a Jim who is likely to return home. For general on the front door step attackings.

      Or perhaps that’s just me.

      *fans face*

  2. robinaltman says:

    Could your BOB give my husband some tips?

  3. daisyfae says:

    BOB. trying to collect the whole set.

    and it’s good to see you aflame again, dear!

  4. nursemyra says:

    Shame is quite the aphrodisiac isn’t it?

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