Y’all know how I feel about a good masturbation story – and a good orgasm. Emily seems to be my kind of girl. Please welcome erotic author Robin Peacock as he shares an excerpt from one of his novels written a few years ago. If you like what you read, follow him on Twitter @RobinPeacock
Last night, I put on a CD of Bizet and relaxed in front of the fire. I read a portion of a delightful book I have read before called; ‘A Week in Winter’ and sipped at a cold Australian Chardonnay.
Now I suppose I begin the real thing. The main event. I lay the book aside and stand to undress. I throw my clothes over the end of the sofa and spread a huge bath towel on the cushions. The room is warm and private. The heavy lined curtains drawn closely. The lighting is set just so. I lie down and reach for the bottle of slightly scented massage oil, which I buy from the Body Shop. They do have some really nicely scented oils for all sorts of purposes but I find that the Chamomile is the most pleasant for me. I begin by reclining almost fully; my head rests on the arm of the sofa so that I can watch myself. I pour a small amount of oil over my breasts and set the bottle aside on the small mahogany table by the sofa. Now with both hands I begin to spread the oil around and over my breasts. I take as long as is necessary to make my nipples stand up. I keep my eyes open and watch as my fingers glide over my skin. I feel every touch, every stroke, every pause, every turn of my fingers. I begin by circling around the whole breast. I deliberately avoid touching my nipples until the time is just right. I move oh-so-slowly so that the journey from the bottom of my breast to the nipple might take a whole minute. My nipples ache to be touched but I move even slower, slower until I can’t bear to wait any longer. Then I pause and make myself wait. They are hard, hard enough that I can pinch them, quite hard. I pull them until they are like small buttons standing proud of my breasts.
How do I feel now? Well, I am glowing from head to toe. I can feel an ache between my legs. I know I am becoming moist down there. It’s as if a fire has been lit deep inside me. I don’t know quite where, but it has been smoldering all day. Now I have given it oxygen and fanned the flames into life.
Somewhere deep inside me a mechanism has been activated that will end in me having this spine shattering, shuddering explosion of joy. I know it will come but I don’t know when. All I do know at this point is that there will be no stopping it. Prolonging it has become my sole aim now. Now I will concentrate my whole being in bringing it about but not yet. I will not be hurried.
My legs rise and fall, squeezing together and falling slightly apart. I will not touch myself yet. My breasts are my complete focus of attention. My hands glide, slowly around and around. My fingers stroke, my thumbs graze the swollen nipples. I pull and pinch gently, then harder. I watch myself. My long, slender fingernails graze gently to and fro. I really must do something about that nail varnish.
My neck and breasts are pink, suffused with blood as the warm, tingling sensation spreads across my upper torso. My legs clamp tightly together, my knees rise and fall in an accelerating rhythm. I need more oil. This time I pour it into the hollow of my belly button. My belly button is quite deep for some reasons so I manage to accumulate quite a good amount of oil in there, lucky me. One forefinger dips gently into the pool. This finger slides very, very slowly down over my pubic hair. The hair removes the oil so I have to return to wet it again. I repeat this until my short pubic hair is glistening with the wet oil.
My finger travels ever so slightly further down with each application of the oil. My feet are now set about two feet apart and my knees raised a little. I can see my finger as it now dips between my legs. It travels down further, sliding wetly around my vagina. Now the whole area is slippery with the oil. I can see that my sex bud is swollen and standing clear of the surrounding folds of flesh.
I continue to transfer the remaining oil until the pool is empty. Now I am ready to touch myself. Gently, oh so very gently I lay my fingertip on the swollen nub. I don’t move, I just touch it. My clitoris throbs rhythmically under my finger. It has a pulse, a strong living independent pulse. It is eager to be manipulated and stroked but I will not allow that. Not yet.
Did I mention already that the anticipation, the delay, the waiting is everything?
Sometimes I barely need to do any more when touch it this way for several minutes and an orgasm will materialize as if from nowhere. The knowledge that my body is ready is sufficient for me to have that which I have waited for. The mere touch, gentle, prolonged and firm is all that it takes. This is a rarity however and didn’t occur last night.
It occurs to me that perhaps this is the sort of thing that William might use as a fantasy, to help him ‘get his rocks off’ as he calls it. He told me he uses books or magazines sometimes, to help. I can’t see why anyone would need help but then he seems to think Julia needs ‘help’ too. I think he needs to set about Julia in a completely different way but then I’m no expert. Well, don’t worry; he’ll never get to read this I can assure you. He mentioned that Dizzy used to keep him in a state he described as ‘totally fucked’. Dizzy went to the same school with us and went out with William for a while after we left school. I see her occasionally in Henley. She lives alone with her cats. I quite like her really.
I’m getting side-tracked again.
Did I tell you that I prefer to use my middle finger? Anyway, there it rests, feeling the pulse through my skin. Now I increase the pressure slightly. Then release it to its former touch. This I repeat again and again until the sensation builds up deep inside me. Just pressing, and releasing, pressing, and releasing. Now I am ready to begin the finalé. Gentle, short strokes, back and forth, back and forth. My finger is curved slightly so that it slips slightly inside me. I don’t like to push it too deep; just around the opening really seems to be quite enough. No deeper than the last knuckle.
It took a year or two before I discovered how pleasurable putting my finger inside myself could be. I couldn’t imagine having something prodding inside me like that would be any fun but I suppose my curiosity got the better of me. Anyway, it’s not as if my finger is anything like as big as father’s huge penis, which he thrust so brutally into my mother. My arm isn’t that thick for God’s sake! It just seemed unnatural and disgusting until I discovered that the firm clasping sensation around my fingertip was all part of the whole pleasurable experience. One fingertip is more than enough though.
I only know what goes on down there because I sometimes set a rectangular mirror on the other end of the sofa. I keep it under the sofa when not in use. I don’t always use it but last night I did. I generally use it when I know that it will take some time.
I move my whole arm up and down my body; I feel several separate sensations now. My finger slips a little inside me. My clitoris is now in firm contact with the hard pad of flesh between my palm and the first joint of my finger. My upper arm strokes my right breast. My left hand is still stroking my left breast. It rather gets forgotten as events progress but for now it still plays an important part in the scheme of things.
I can feel my erect nub of flesh being pulled, first up and then down as my finger slides gently over it. My knees are now wide apart, my feet drawn up close to my bottom, frog-like. My whole hand is flat over my vagina; my middle finger continues to slip inside me. The others push down on the folds of skin surrounding the opening; the whole area is being pulled to and fro as my arm rises and falls.
I push harder and more firmly now. The sensation deep within me has taken on a life of its own. It can’t be stopped now. All I have to do is continue as I am now and I know without a doubt that I will have an orgasm. For this reason I slow the pace, slacken the pressure slightly, and don’t probe quite as deeply within me. I allow my muscles to relax slightly, then when the sensation has subsided slightly I resume the pace, pressure and depth as before.
I repeat this until it becomes too much to bear. Now a fuse has been lit deep inside me, almost at once the feeling spreads to my breasts and down to my vagina. It’s rather like a firework. You light the blue touch paper and stand clear. If everything has been prepared properly then in a few short moments there will be a flash of light and an almighty explosion as the rocket is sent soaring toward the heavens.
There is a delicious fizzing sensation as my skin begins to burn. A tension builds within me, harder, stronger now, I stroke harder, faster, I push, I squeeze, I don’t pause now, I rush headlong toward the precipice. Faster, harder, burning, shuddering, tight, open, closing, holding, tighter, wetter, faster, Oh God, now, harder, don’t stop now, Oh yes, Oh yes, now harder, faster, pulling, squeezing, pinching, faster, harder, up and now down deeper, inside, tight, throbbing, clasping lips, wet fingers flying, hand pressing hard, nipple squeezed ferociously, breast gripped harder, pulled, vagina wide open, red, wet, gripping tight, squeezing, finger, now two fingers, two? Held deep, deep inside, harder, now, now, now, Oh Jesus Christ, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, deeper, again, again, now, now, yes, that’s it, oh that is absolutely, completely, definitely, bloody fucking hell, that is it! that is it, that is IT! Pause, breath held, hands still, muscles relaxing, then jarring aftershocks, trembling, shuddering, slowly now, another squeeze, another aftershock, then, nothing.
Well, excuse me if I got a bit carried away there but I think now you get the general idea. Did you notice the language, I’m terribly sorry about that, it won’t happen again. I never talk like that!
Like I said earlier; how can any man, particularly a bonehead like William, possibly know what it is to experience anything quite like that? It just isn’t possible that men can have an orgasm anything like as intense or powerful as that which I have just had. Is it?
I should explain that writing this down for you is making me really quite excited now. Just hang on a minute while I fix this. I have to take my pants off and do it now, I can’t wait. I’m afraid you’ll have to but I won’t be long. Just put my fingers in there and rub, ah yes.
Christ, that was quick.
Wow! That’s something I’ve never done before but it’s such fun I think I shall continue to do it when and where the fancy takes me. I know I said earlier that I reserve it only for the evening but I think people should be adaptable, don’t you?
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Ha ha, yes, poor men. Even sadder for them is that they have to recover whereas we can come again and again and again. Wonderful.
The ability to have multiple orgasms is a perk I certainly enjoy. 🙂