{This story starts here. This is the toy my Sir and I selected: The LOVENSE Dolce Remote Control Vibrator, Clitoris & G-spot Vibrating Sex Toy | Adult Sex Toys & Games, Long Distance, 10 Vibration Patterns,…}
“Are you ready for breakfast?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, a bit uncertainly. It is one thing to have taken the walk to the beach yesterday wearing our toy, but to go to breakfast and be around a lot of people? Plus try to eat breakfast? While the PInk Panter vibrates madly between my legs? Shaking my head, that just seems like a lot.
I have this frightening image of him turning it up and making me come in the restaurant. Trying to hold back moans and groans of pleasure. I don’t really think he’d do that – but I didn’t think he’d make me wear it to breakfast either!
With the Pink Panter nestled more or less securely in my already aroused pussy, my clit in close contact with the vibration, I carefully make my way out the door and down the walkway to breakfast.
It’s early. I hoped there would be just a few people already eating. But no. The breakfast room is buzzing – young couples, old couples, families with toddlers, families with teens and there I am, vibrating gently, constantly aware of the heat between my legs.
My Sir is not able to be on video with me, but we are messaging, when I can manage it.
I stand in front of the coffee station – do I want to try their decaf? Hmmm. I turn my attention to the juice. Orange juice? Apple juice?
The vibration inside me speeds up for a moment. I am totally distracted.
Oh, right drinks. What about food? In the warming pan. I raise the lid. Scrambled eggs. Sausage. Do I want some eggs? I would need to get a plate. Looking around. Where are the plates?
Pastries. They have pastries. Some kind of packaged cheese danish, little muffins… No, never mind, no pastries. What else?
Oatmeal. Yes. There’s oatmeal. The bowls are right there. Right next to it.
The buzzing between my legs is steady. Stimulating, steadily stimulating, not high enough to reach any peaks, just high enough to hold me in this steady state of arousal. Simmering, so to speak.
Ok. Oatmeal. Pick up a paper bowl. Set my bowl down – raise the lid – carefully – the ladle – one big dollop of oatmeal, yes! Right in the bowl! Perfect. Oh, do I want… Brown sugar. Yes. Not a whole spoonful, part of a spoonful – yes! Now – what? A spoon for me. Yes. Got it.
I am throbbing with the vibration you know. It’s not exactly that I’m thinking about it – not in words – but I’m totally aware of it. And everything is unusually difficult. It must be blocking neural pathways.
I find an empty table. Sit. Realize I don’t have a drink. I don’t know what to do.
Oh. Orange juice. I can do that. Carefully, back to the drink station. Just part of a glass, I am not thirsty, or actually hungry for that matter. I am doing a task. Eating breakfast, simmering in my own juices.
Sheesh.
I make it through most of the oatmeal, most of the juice, and am relieved to head back toward my room. Feeling a sense of accomplishment and soaking in the praise for being his good girl.
Appreciating even more the orgasm that follows when I get back to my room!
But it is a strange experience. Blocking neural pathways. What would an MRI even look like in those moments?
Another time, after I am back home, we are playing. We are on video this time. He is changing the rhythms of the throbbing between my legs, letting me settle into one rhythm then speeding up or slowing down, more vibration on my clit and less inside, more on both, shifting the balance. He is taking his time, it sounds more disjointed than it was, but too much to let me quite settle.
And smiling. He likes this. Of course, I do too, but it makes me happy that he likes it.
He elicits moans, little cries of pleasure, a whimper or two. Not knowing what I can expect next, I am often startled and he enjoys watching me react to his control. I am a bit like a puppet. Maybe I am his puppet. I’m loving it.
Then he says, “How much is 3 + 3? I can see his smile. That’s ok – I know this one!
“Six,” I say triumphantly.
“How much is 6 + 9?”
I pause a moment, but it’s ok. I know this one too. 6 + 9 is – 9 is almost 10, that would be 16, but one less, that is —-
“15!”
Still smiling, he says, “How much is 15 +22?”
A rush of panic – 15 + 22 – that’s – ok, I can do this. 5 + 2 is 7, right? Yes. That’s right. Ok. Put that aside. What the first number going to – ok, just say 15 + 20 – that does it – so the answer is
“35!”
And he makes the buzzzzz, you-lose sound. He’s laughing.
“Almost, he says, still laughing.
And I’m laughing – “Ok, wait a minute, I can do this – it was —“
“15 + 22,” he says, and we’re both enjoying this way too much – or maybe just right – because I figure it out and
“37!” I say. Like this is a huge accomplishment.
And it is y’all. Because clearly, my math brain has gone completely off line and I’m almost reduced to counting on my fingers. But I still got it right!
As I watch my Sir laughing at me, watching me come undone, I realize that I am actually the toy he’s playing with. It’s not the device in his hand, it’s not even the throbbing between my legs. It’s me. I am the toy.
And that makes me feel all kinds of happy-almost-purring-satisfied and content.
