Damn! I really will have to gather up my courage and get myself out there and buy a proper butt plug.
Not for the first time I find myself casting about for something smooth and sensual to shove up my arse. The hotel room is equipped with every convenience device known to man (and woman), there's even a porn channel on the TV -- but there aren't many hotels that have dildos in the bedside cabinets. Well... I know of one in Soho, Soho in London... London, England that is, but that's a bit special -- and a long way from here.
"Here" is a very nice room -- almost a suite (I'm not paying) on the umpty-first floor of a very nice hotel on Wilshire Boulevard. I've got most of the lights off and the smog has cleared so there is a fantastic view of the sparkling nightlife of Los Angeles through the huge glass windows but they don't got no dildos up here and I'm getting desperate!
I'm a strange girl. I've been shoving things up my bum since before puberty and I can't really explain it. I remember the first time, lying on my bed in my little room at night, with the moon shining through the curtains, taking off my panties, lifting my legs over my head and bringing my knees down on either side of my head -- I was much more flexible then. I wasn't at all interested in my pussy -- I don't think I even knew I'd got one. I had a wee hole and a bum hole and the bum hole was the one that interested me. I probed my bum with a finger, it was soft and yielding but I didn't go in, even on the outside it made my finger smell a bit -- not bad exactly, I remember sniffing it and getting to quite like the funny "not quite poo" smell.
And then, having dared myself over a couple of nights I tried the blunt end of a pencil and to my fascinated surprise, with very little pressure, it slid in. I remember the sensation to this day, really quite pleasant, and the sense of amazement as I gazed up at the sharp end protruding out of my bottom.
As I grew I graduated to bigger things, hairbrush handles mostly, and I stole my brother's pen torch -- he never did get it back, God, I hope he doesn't read this! The fascination didn't leave me as I got older, but the innocence did and I began to worry about doing it. Was it right? Would God punish me? And later when I knew a lot more about anatomy, especially my anatomy, I wondered if I might be doing myself some harm?
By the time I got to my middle teens I'd stopped entirely. I almost forgot I'd ever done it. But then in university after a couple of relationships didn't go exactly right -- and anyway, I was a good student, determined to get a first, not much time for the hassle of sex with another person -- I tried again. Back to the hairbrush! This time it was my pussy first; I remember I had quite a reasonable cum. The next night though, alone in bed in my college room, with the moon throwing shadows of the diamond patterned leaded windows onto the opposite wall and the quiet dark of the quadrangle outside I remembered where that hairbrush had been when I was a kid. Yes dear reader, it was the same one, a very nice Mason Pearson that my grandmother bought me for my seventh birthday because I had very long, beautiful hair. Mr Mason Pearson had a long, beautiful handle, quite wide at the end narrowing down at the base, near the bristly head.
Dare I do it again? A little thrill crept up my stomach; it made me catch my breath. After a moment's hesitation I threw back the bed covers and brought my knees up, not too high -- just a normal fucking position. Well, normal for me anyway -- I don't know what the rest of you do. I slipped my hand inside my panties and I felt my cunt. I rubbed my hand over the tight curls of my bush and slid my middle finger along my pussy lips and down to my bum hole; still soft and yielding when I pressed a little. I sniffed my finger and the memories came flooding back.
My mind made up now I rolled out of bed and padded across the cold parquet floor to my dressing table. "Oh, Mr Mason Pearson, where are you...?"
Clutching my bristly, smooth handled prize I scurried back into bed and snuggled under the warm covers. I was shivering a little, was it that cold? Or was it something else? I lay stiff and straight and pushed the brush handle down inside my panties between my tightly closed thighs. It was cold against my groin, almost deliciously so. I pulled at the head end flicking it a few times so the bristles pressed into my mound and the trapped handle pressed briefly against my cunt. After a few moments of this I relaxed and eased my panties down over my bum. I held Mr Mason Pearson in place to keep him warm and scuffled with my feet curling my big toe to grip my panties and get them down each leg in turn. Then my panties were off, a soggy heap somewhere near the bottom of the bed. On an impulse I pulled Mr Mason Pearson from my groin and started to brush my cunt hair with the stiff bristles. That was nice! I wondered why I hadn't done it before?
The handle was warm now in my hand. I turned the brush around and, still under the covers I opened my legs and raised my knees slightly, enough to ease the handle down my slit. I felt horny and wet, but the wetness was inside me still, so I slipped a finger down alongside the brush handle. I pressed on my labia and rubbed it up and down a little then I probed my lips and gradually worked my finger inside.
