I lay awake with my back still against his chest, the bloom of the flower between my legs fresh and fragrant. Still feeling him down there, I reflected on his gently making love to me, how he always wanted me to feel good, not even a little bad. An unusually kind man, Jon tried to singly make up for a history of men who took what they wanted from me.

It was ironic then that these thoughts would recall the first pleasant memory of my ex in many months. I surely didn’t miss or regret leaving him, but at this moment, the thought of being taken was spreading the petals of my flower open again, oozing its nectar. My heart beat faster, my need undeniable, yet I knew that – this time – Jon wouldn’t satisfy that need.

Listening carefully for the shallow breathing of sleep and only barely feeling the movement in his chest, I knew that I would have to do it: take myself. Waking him would only leave me feeling again as I did now.

Lying on my right side with his arm draped over me, I could only use my right arm and tested his slumber by caressing my tits softly. What I really wanted was to squeeze them,  hard, now, and that was the point, wasn’t it? Not to take it easy, but to just take it! My fingers clutched the soft, pliant flesh, caresses turning to crushing pressure and pinched nipples; I could feel a trickle of my juice running across my thigh to the mattress.

Drawn to that feeling, my fingers glided softly across my tummy and into my seeping slit, a deep exhale telling me I’d been holding my breath. My middle finger headed straight for my weeping pussy, and knowing it was crying for this attention, I plunged it in as hard and deep as I dared. Another sudden exhale warned me that I needed to keep my upper body still if my need was to remain undetected.

Lifting my left leg just enough, my hand slipped into my crotch, and while even in my masturbation, I would usually be gentle at first, I was anything but. My fingers clawed at my swollen labia, squeezing them together and then splaying them apart, grating roughly against the pink folds. I wanted to spank them but couldn’t for fear of discovery. Two fingers followed by three invaded my cunt, and suddenly the thought of being fisted sounded intriguing.

I could feel it coming, charging at me like wild horses. My hips gyrated to the rhythm of my fingers pounding into my pussy; I couldn’t help breathing like I was running a marathon. Finding my clit with my thumb, I mashed it into my body as though I could push it back in, and in seconds it hit me.

Trying to limit the spasms to my waist and below proved impossible, my chest heaving with the exhausting breaths. Manhandling myself prolonged the amazing aftershocks as my palm fingered, pinched, and mashed my naughty pussy into submission.

Deep breaths gradually slowed but eventually gave me away as I felt Jon stir and lift his head.

“Are you okay, hun?” he whispered.

“I’m okay – just a dream,” I lied, still panting.

“A bad dream? Wanna tell me about it?”

There he goes, worrying if I’m okay, and at this point, I loved him for it, but I knew something had to change.

“No. It’s okay,” I said, pulling his arm tighter around me, “Go back to sleep.”

We rose the following morning and went through our morning rituals, though today, Jon was packing for a business trip that would have him away for three or four days. I kissed him at the door and wished him a good trip. In the past, once he’d left, my mind would begin looking forward to the oh-so-satisfying sex we’d have upon his return, both having missed each other enough to break out of some of the routines and truly enjoy each other. But after last night’s clandestine masturbation, I knew that wouldn’t be, or at least not like it usually was.

I fell into my usual patterns of work and solo pleasure, although those had become even more animated. I went to an adult store and bought some new toys to test some theories I had. A huge dildo that I wasn’t even sure would fit, did, but it was disappointing. The ‘rabbit’ vibe was exciting but still didn’t fill my need. I liked the little butt plug. It felt naughty, and he could make a show of stuffing it in my ass, but I figured that would never happen.

If I couldn’t give myself what I wanted, and he couldn’t give it to me, I questioned our future together. While I wouldn’t be repeating the same mistake if we married, I felt like I might be making a new one. Those thoughts plagued me the first couple of days he was away, making me very sad.

I shared my dilemma with my two closest friends at lunch, and they immediately came to Jon’s defense, calling me crazy for even thinking about breaking up with such a great guy. They reminded me of Dave, my ex, and a couple of other guys I’d had since my divorce; certain I didn’t want that! They even badmouthed their own men, trying to contrast how Jon was such a ‘nice guy!’ The problem was, I didn’t want him to be just nice, especially when it came to sex.

It was Wednesday afternoon when I found out his trip would extend to Thursday, and I wasn’t as disappointed as I would have been usually. I would give myself a good time that night.

To get in the mood, I went to the Lush Stories site and browsed the new submissions of the day. One story titled ‘Give It To Me!’ caught my eye, and I started reading.

The skilled writer had my attention right away, and before long, I was stripped down to my panties, and they didn’t keep my fingers out of my pussy. I was grateful for words alone that could get me so wet! With my fingers sawing through my slippery slit, I came in unison with the demanding woman in the story.

‘Eat my fucking pussy, Steve!’ and ‘Yes, I want it in my ass!’ resonated with me, though I couldn’t see myself being quite so crass. I came several times still sitting at the computer, needing a Lysol wipe to clean up the mess in the leather executive chair.

I wanted to reread it, but I also wanted the comfort of my bed to continue my self-love marathon. In the bathroom, I removed my wet panties and inserted the butt plug, squirming and clenching to get comfortable with it. “Ooo, that feels good,” I said aloud as I walked to my bed, its presence undeniable. I climbed on with my iPad, already displaying the story.

Skipping a lot of the scene setting, I jumped to the good parts and started substituting my own dialog while I followed along with the story. My fingers would have to play the part of his tongue as I demanded to have my pussy eaten.

“Come on, Jon! Eat my pussy!” I said in a voice that brooked no dispute and spread my legs wide. “Yeah! Play with my plug!” I said when my lover-in-prose doubted my desire for ass play. It didn’t take long for the first climax to arrive as one set of fingers fucked my teeming twat, while the others tugged on the plug, that tight muscle not wanting to surrender it.

Still panting, I got up on my knees with a firm throw pillow between my legs, filling in for my lover’s tongue when I sat on his face. Scraping my lips against the pillow’s piped edge and up to the even-stiffer corner, I told ‘him’ to just keep licking me! My body stiffened as another orgasm had me falling face first to the bed, my fingers still playful with my pussy, no doubt left about what I needed.

Luxuriating in a nice, hot shower, I lamented the position I was in with a super nice guy who couldn’t quite fulfill me sexually. Suddenly, it hit me, and I just stood there in the stream of hot water, wondering why I hadn’t thought of it before. Jon would always be too nice to get as aggressive as I wanted. The woman in the story was calling the shots, telling her lover what she wanted in no uncertain terms, and she got it. Having never been the aggressor, telling Jon what I wanted hadn’t occurred to me.

“I can do that!” I said aloud and resumed bathing while my mind planned a small test for Jon when he came home the next day.

<<<<O>>>>

Do you think Madeline has found the answer to her dilemma? Find out in Part 2 coming soon. Remember to 'Like' and/or 'Favorite' my story and Thanks For Reading!!