A night on my own...;)

Dear Diary,

The storm trapped me inside today, snow piling up like the world had decided I wasn’t meant to go anywhere — only inward. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you hyper-aware of your own body, your own thoughts. I lit a joint,  turned up the heat, and let that familiar, dangerous idea settle in.

Dress-up started innocently enough. Lace first. Black, then red. I stood in front of the mirror, slowly turning, watching how the fabric clung and teased, how my body still responds to silk and sheer like it always has. I took pictures — not for anyone else at first, just for me. Proof. Evidence. Every click of the camera made me feel more seen, more wanted, even alone.  

I move to my bed, delighting in the feel of the mountain of discarded lingerie, my body naked now, listening to the sleet hammer against the windows. My skin feels electric, hypersensitive to every texture — the varying weaves of  fabric, the cool air from the slightly open window, the heat radiating from my own body. I let my hand drift down across my stomach, feeling the slight rise and fall of my breathing. Lower. My fingers find the soft warmth between my thighs, and I gasp — not from surprise, but from the intensity of it, how desperately my body has been waiting for this touch. The storm outside mirrors something building inside me, something primal and necessary.

I move slowly at first, circling, teasing, learning the landscape of my own desire. My other hand cups my breast, thumb brushing across my nipple until it hardens into a tight peak. I find the wet heat of my pussy, my fingers sliding in with ease.  I start slowly, enjoying the familiar feel of my own body.  I can smell the sweet, musky scent of my cunt, begging for release.  I quicken the pace, now driving three fingers in and out, relentless, needing this release. The flickering light of the candles illuminates the room, and in those brief moments I see myself — head thrown back, lips parted, body arching toward my own hand like a flower turning toward the sun. The music thumping in the background drowns out my sounds, or maybe I’m drowning out the music — I can’t tell anymore.

The release builds like a wave gathering strength far out at sea. I can feel it approaching, inevitable and overwhelming. My body tightens, rises, answers itself. When it finally crashes over me, it’s raw, private, entirely mine. I ride it out until I collapse back against the pillows, breathless, spent, gloriously alive.

My body, slick with sweat and arousal refuses to settle,The first orgam was just th opening - a crack in the dam.  Now something hungrier stirs.

The bath came next.  Hot water, mountains of bubbles, steam fogging the mirrors.  I sank into it, letting the heat loosen everything — muscles, thoughts, restraint. The world narrowed to sensation: water against skin, breath catching, that slow, familiar ache building. I closed my eyes and let my imagination do the rest, letting the storm outside fade while the one inside me took over.  I reach for the smooth silicone toy I’ve brought into the bath with me. I keep it close by for nights like this. Nights when my own hands aren't enough. I bring it to my lips first, tasting myself on my fingers, salt and musk and something indefinably mine. Then I trail it down—between my breasts, across my belly, lower—until I press it against my entrance, already swollen and aching. I'm so wet it slides in easily, filling me in one slow, deliberate thrust that makes me gasp. The stretch is exquisite. I hold it there, buried deep, feeling my walls pulse around it, adjusting, welcoming. Then I begin to move.  

The rhythm starts slow, almost meditative – in and out, each stroke deliberate, each withdrawal leaving me desperate for the next thrust. My free hand returns to my clit, circling, pressing, while I fuck myself with increasing urgency. The toy glistens with my arousal every time I pull it out, catching candlelight, evidence of how badly I need this. I angle it differently, searching, and when I find that spot deep inside…that place that makes stars explode behind my eyelids – I cry out again, louder this time. My hips back against my own hands, chasing friction, chasing oblivion. I can feel another orgasm building, different from the first – deeper, more consuming. This one starts in my core and radiates outward like lightning through my veins.

When it hits, I come so hard I see white. My pussy, wet, dripping and fragrant, clutches around the toy and rhythmic spasms. My legs are shaking uncontrollably, my back arching out of the bath. I don't stop – I can't stop – riding through one peek into another, then another until they flowed together in one endless wave of sensation. My nectar runs down my thighs, disappearing into the hot water of the bath. Still, I keep moving, relishing every last shutter from my body until I'm lost in the intensity of it. Only when my muscles want to give out, do I still, the toy slipping from my grip, my hand falling away from my overly sensitive clit. I lie there, mostly submerged, trembling, completely undone, my  body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure so profound, it feels like a prayer.