He’d come home the night before, too tired and stressed to do much beyond groping me, after talking the trip out of his system. He fell asleep with his hand in my crotch, which I always feel is sweet because I’m sentimental like that. This morning I’d woken up to the same sensation, only with a little more violence in his grip. We’d only have a couple of nights together, before more trips would separate us all over again (I was even going away this time, to visit Harpo in New Orleans), and we were both aware that tonight was going to have to be a main event. We’d spent the early part of the morning torqueing each other up, but we didn’t fuck. I may have mentioned before that I’m near impossible to get off that early. It’s not a need to be more awake, because if you let me sleep really late you can make me come before I’ve cracked an eyelid; it’s more like my vagina simply doesn’t deign to recognize the outside world before ten o-clock. So we’d made out and rolled around and fondled and frolicked, and then he’d given me my assignments and gone off to work.
I had already had one really phenomenal, vaginal orgasm today. It’s rare that I get myself off without any clitoral stimulation, even with the use of a vibrator, but I‘d recently bought an interesting new one, and met that challenge. We’d lately been on this run of fun and games – a new sort of epoch. Laughter and beatings were interspersed one with another in a way they hadn’t been, before. The formality of all submission and a little masochism had been elbowed out by all masochism and a little submission. It was weird. Good and weird. He’d taken to using his regular old belt on me, and that had a few times led to beatings with no accompanying sex. It was like the atmosphere around that division of our sex life got sort of casual for awhile… Oh and by the way THWACK! Weird. Good and weird. Anyway, I’d made a couple of new purchases during that time. One of them I was so horribly ashamed of that I didn’t tell him about it when I ordered it, and then couldn’t bear to open the box when it finally arrived. By then he knew what the box contained, and he let me stew over it, silently watched me struggle with wanting what was inside and being unable to face breaching the packing tape. When I finally got up the nerve and brought the thing out, I didn’t even use it. I just held it in my hands. I sat there on the bed for over an hour, just holding and touching it, in all its embarrassing glory. That’s not the one I’d gotten off with earlier today, though.
Today’s orgasm had been brought to me by* the other thing I’d purchased during this sexually matter-of-fact period. We’d been pretty deep into fooling around a few days before, when something reminded me of a new toy I’d seen in the adult store. Before, I never would have stopped in the middle of sex to say Hey, guess what I saw yesterday, it wouldn’t have even occurred to me to do so, but the atmosphere had changed. Plus, it was something I’d never seen before, and that never happens! We rarely even go into adult stores anymore, because invariably there’s nothing there that we’d want, that we don’t already have. That kind of shopping is supposed to be fun, and it just ends up disappointing. This time though, I’d been surprised. It was a vibrator with three bendy arms. They are all identical, kind of paddle-shaped, and made of what I can only describe as something similar to Stretch Armstrong. If that reference is too old and obscure for you, try to imagine what rubber would feel like, coated over an extremely thick syrup or putty. In this case, if you bend an arm, it stays bent in whatever position you’ve chosen for it, completely independent of whatever the other two are doing. And they all have separate vibrators in them, with multiple settings, and separate controls. You can set each one to do something different, and in a different place or position, or from a different angle. Kinda cool. I hadn’t bought it, because I couldn’t tell if it was more than the novelty of finding something new that made it interesting. Also, it weighed a thousand pounds and was Bright Pink. So mid-sex, we’d stopped to look it up online, and in doing so we’d discovered that it also came in dark purple(!!), and we ordered it on the spot before falling back into the main activities of the evening.
So it was that toy that I’d been experimenting with, earlier. I’d tried it with all three arms together, and I’d tried it with each of them spread into various directions, outside, inside, over, under, around and through.** It took only a micro-second however, to determine that if one of them was settled on my clit, the deal was going to be over and done. What with my unfortunate clitoral refractory period – and I think my assignment may also have been restricted to a single orgasm anyway – that wasn’t going to do at all. I once returned a vibrator to a store with an expansive refund policy, because it made me come too quickly. (Okay, credit where it’s due, I chickened out and made my husband return it for me.) Regardless, I wasn’t about to waste all the potential this toy had for three and a half seconds of orgasm. So I’d left my clit completely alone, and played with everything else. Despite all the different combinations of position and vibration (all of which were fun and effective), the one that finally tipped me over the edge was just all three arms in my pussy, at the same time. What I did was bend them out until they were way too wide, and then push them in anyway. In reality, all that happened was that my pussy forced the arms to bend back in, to squeeze together so they’d fit, but in the imagination, it cleverly lined up with images of virgins being deflowered… I came all over it.
And there I was, some hour or two later, trying to remember how to buy groceries with a glass plug in my ass. Breathe. There is no rush. No one is staring at you. Take your time. I made my way down the aisles as tense as a bowstring, gathering items. Every gesture and reach intended to look graceful from the outside, trying to cover the tight grip of every muscle in my body. My pussy was wet, and making the tops of my inner thighs slippery. As delicious as that was, it was also extremely dangerous, in that particular scenario. Too slippery could be disastrous just then, when the floor is tiled and the plug is glass. I tried hard not to bail, after getting just the items that were necessities for that night. He’d be fine with that – my task would be technically complete – but I wouldn’t. I had to do the thing all the way. I was grocery shopping, not dinner shopping, damn it. Oh hell, did it shift, or was I just afraid it would shift? I had forgotten about that particular threat of panic. I tried to casually lean against the edge of a refrigerated section, pretending to check my list, to reassure myself that the toy was still planted firmly in my ass, give it a little extra shove, maybe. I tried to think about those people who can willfully bring down their own heart rates – how hard could it be? I paced myself around the store trying to deep breathe.
Seriously? How could there be NO green peppers?! Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I couldn’t make the same dinner, without them. I was going to have to go back through the store and change ingredients. Already I knew I still had to stop at the drug store before I could go home. It would take a million years, I knew it would. I kept reminding myself that I could do this – I had done this. I had succeeded at this very task! But when have there EVER been no green peppers?! Slowly… carefully… I just had to do it until it was done, that’s all. I stopped and backed up next to a display, to pretend to check my list again. I knew there was little chance that a security camera couldn’t see me, but all the actual humans I could see we facing other directions. Plus, hadn’t I once taken a picture of myself with my hand in my pussy, right underneath the eye in the sky at Target? I tried to give an actual, full-on readjustment, but manually maneuvering a butt plug in my ass, in the midst of all my public fear, only made my pussy wetter and my fear of slippage worse. I had to set the rational side of my brain to actively remind me that the toy was secure – I’d felt it, I knew it was secure – over and over again, as I went on.
Really I could get away with not going to the deli. It was an after-thought at the bottom of my list. But there was no line, so I couldn’t bring myself to skip it. They made me wait to be waited on, anyway. Then a friendly young woman took my order, but decided she’d better clean the slicer before she filled it. I watched her do her job while I slow danced under my skirt. I made myself hold, made myself breathe, made myself pause, made myself chat, rolled my hips ever so slowly around the article impaling my ass, feeling three times its actual size. Shit. I realized that now that I was getting deli stuff, I’d have to go back to the vegetable aisle and get lettuce. I made myself smile. Did I usually fuck up this many things in one trip to the market? Did it just feel like everything was fucked because I was being anally penetrated while I tried to do it, or was the anal penetration actually making me fuck up everything? It didn’t matter, I was going to the vegetable aisle fucked and fucking.
I tried to think about something else. Tried to think about later, because I still had another orgasm to accomplish, after this. That wouldn’t be hard, I could still feel slippery, melted, liquid between my legs. And what about after that? There’s no way he’d set me this task if his mind wasn’t already set on fucking my ass tonight. I had clothing choices to make, before then. I had to choose a corset, had to choose shoes. I had to set up the bed with the crispest sheets, lay out the switch and the floggers, Oh shit, I still had to send him a picture to document the orgasm I’d had before I left! I was at the checkout now, trying to function and make small-talk with Lars at the register (that’s right, his name was Lars), while trying not to forget all my jobs, while the majority of my brain still couldn’t pull away from the fact that I was standing there being silently drilled, invisibly probed. I still needed to take a bath – maybe I would make myself come in the tub, before I shaved my legs. I’d done all my girl-grooming the day before, so any prickles left from that would have softened by now…
Lars the cashier was smiling at my request for cash back in singles. Really it was for New Orleans buskers, on my trip to visit Harpo, but since I couldn’t tell him the more interesting thing he should have been smirking at, I let him believe. He went so far as to ask where I’d be spending them, and I smiled and said I’d let him use his imagination on that one. Slowly, finally, I managed to navigate my cart out of the store and over the speed bumps (careful, careful) in the parking lot, thinking He has no idea that the reality is even better than what he imagines.
*Yep, that was a Sesame Street reference; you didn’t imagine it.
** So was that.
*Yep, that was a Sesame Street reference; you didn’t imagine it.
** So was that.
(Nope, still not telling you what the other toy is.)
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